


Waiting Game [discontinued]

by blue_slate



Category: Charlie's Angels (2019)
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, but it gets ANGSTY, but its fun!, its has explosions! and gay!, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_slate/pseuds/blue_slate
Summary: The aftermath of John Bosley's arrest and betrayal of Townsend Agency leaves some loose ends to clean up. The gang is assigned to find an Angel gone rogue, but that's the least of their worries.
Relationships: Elena Houghlin & Jane Kano & Sabina Wilson, Elena Houghlin/Sabina Wilson, Jane Kano/Original Character
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. prologue - angel gone rogue

**Author's Note:**

> sup guys. this is the first chapter to a series i think is really good, but i'm not sure how long it's gonna be yet. also, it involves an original character, so if ya ain't into that, then ya probably shouldn't read this. thanks you guys!

**PROLOGUE**

**_angel gone rogue_ **

“So, who’s this fancy schmancy target we’re looking for?” Sabina plops self righteously onto the couch, immediately pulling her legs up and over the armrest. She lounges like a woman from a soap opera, draped in pearls. Which, considering the state of her room and the mass of clothes she ‘borrowed’ from the closet, isn’t unlikely. 

“She’s the first step in our operation of cleaning up all of John’s loose ends.” Rebekah, better known as Bos to the three Angels in front of her, begins moving the widescreen in front of her to display critical debriefing information. 

“What’s her deal?” Jane leans back into the couch, after delivering a not-so-subtle kick to Sabina’s leg. The blonde has yet to break her record of trying to sleep in debriefing meetings, and if Jane weren’t good friends with Sabina, she’d consider it extremely annoying. Really, Sabina is just annoying, but the good kind. 

“She’s an Angel,” Bos answers. 

“Wait,” Elena interjects, holding up her hand. “She’s an Angel?” 

“Oh, cool! We can just pull up in the Benz. I call shotgun,” Sabina says, moving to stand up, but a well placed hand by Jane keeps her from moving. 

“There’s the problem,” Bos remarks, with a light sigh. “She was the last Angel John Bosley was in contact with. Then, one day, she took up a mission, and went ghost. She managed to shut off her wings, and we’ve been unable to contact her at all.”

“Oof,” Sabina mutters, shifting not so discreetly on the couch, body angling towards herself. She glances up to Bos. “So, clearly this chick feels abandoned, right? Her Bosley turning out to the bad guy?” 

“That’s what I’m chalking it up to be. Last we heard, she was stationed in the safehouse in Toronto, tasked with taking down a drug ring.” 

“A drug ring? In  _ Toronto? _ Aren’t Canadians supposed to be nice?” Sabina asks incredulously, looking around with a slight look of disbelief on her face, like she can’t actually comprehend the thought of Canadians doing anything remotely evil. Elena has to give her that— never thought she’s hear anything evil happening in Toronto, but hey, it’s Canada. That place is weird. 

“I have an MI6 contact in Toronto. He can weed anything—  _ anyone _ — out,” Jane brings up, long arms crossing over her chest. Bos nods, and there’s a brief moment of relief in Jane’s chest at that nod of respect from her superior. 

“Get in contact with him as soon as possible. The quicker we get her—” Bos points to a profile projected on the screen. “— the quicker we can get to work ripping apart what Bosley has left.” 

“How cold is it in Toronto?” Sabina ponders aloud, but Elena is far too busy analyzing the profile in front of her.  _ Fletcher Klaus. _ The ID attached to said profile displays a woman no older than twenty five, at least, with insanely messy hair. Almost Sabina-level messy, but Elena wouldn’t go that far. It’s a more respectable level of messy, the kind that gives off a roguish aura. 

Listed in the profile is an exceedingly long list of talents, some of which seem a bit outlandish, even by Angel standards. Poison resistance seems a bit far-fetched. One stands out to Elena the most—  _ Trapmaster. _ What the heck does that even mean?

“Anything we should know before we tail her?” Elena poses, and Bos hums. 

“Many things. I’ve never worked with her myself, but I’ve heard about her. Ex-con turned Angel. Found in San Francisco when she was sixteen, finished training in a shattering record of one month, and since then, she’s been responsible for dismantling drug rings, breaking black markets, and catching moles.”

The last one hangs on a thread. 

“And the mole she couldn’t catch was her own Bosley,” Sabina says, leaning on her hand. Bos sighs, as if she can only agree. “What happened to the drug ring she was taking down?” 

“It was, coincidentally, the last report she submitted to HQ before going AWOL,” Bos continues, making a vague hand gesture while switching the screen to the report. “Infiltrated the ring on day two, dismantled it on the third, and rounded up all of the accomplices on day four.” 

“On her own?” Sabina’s brow crooks. Bos just nods, and an air of silence falls around the group. One woman, taking down an entire drug ring. A job that takes a squad of police months to do took one woman four days to complete. 

“Yo, that has to be a record, right?” Sabina crosses her arms, sparing a glance to Jane before looking to Bos. Bosley inclines her head slightly, an obvious yes. 

Sabina lets out a long whistle, and Jane narrows her eyes. The thought of going face to face with a woman who took down a ring in Toronto (on her own!) seems a bit… complicated. Nevertheless, Jane makes the mental note to contact her fellow ex-MI6 agent. If there’s anyone that can find this Fletcher, it would be him. 

“So, Jane, get in touch with your man. Once we get to Toronto tomorrow morning, we’re doing recon, and as soon as we find her, we get her. The Agency wants Fletcher back on the map ASAP,” Bos says, then follows it with a gentle sip from her cabernet. 

“Oh, packing!” Sabina says with a level of false excitement that makes Elena pause to make a distinct  _ wtf _ face before they all stand up and move to work. 

~~~~~

“Bina, stop messing with the binoculars. You’re making them all janky!” Elena whispers as she surveys Sabina on an adjacent roof through her own set. If Elena weren’t dead set on finding Fletcher, she could spend another ten minutes watching Sabina fiddle with her binoculars. It’s true entertainment, by any means. 

It hadn’t taken long at all for Jane’s contact to come through. Apparently, he had taken a liking to Jane early on, and was eager to assist his former squadmate in getting her the information he needed, all for a few Snickers bars. That’s how they ended up with a folder containing only one page of information. 

Eden’s Grove Cemetery, San Francisco. Not one of the best places Elena’s ever been to. It’s surprisingly beautiful with the lush trees and the looming spires of ancient tombstones engraved with names that have long since worn down from years upon years of erosion. 

“Focus,” Jane mutters, looking through the scope of her rifle, loaded with a tranq dart should things come to that. Bosley hoped things wouldn’t come to that, she said herself in mission debriefing. Only use it if entirely necessary. Jane would be damned if she didn’t have it prepared, at least. 

“Eyes on target?” Bos’s voice interjects. 

“Negative,” Jane answers, scanning through the heads of people for their target. Granted, the cemetery they’re analyzing at the moment isn’t so full, but the winding pathways and large headstones provide cover for people to hide behind. 

There’s some faint sounds of chewing on the comms, prompting Elena to yet again swivel her binoculars to Sabina. Elena’s jaw drops a slight bit as she asks, “Are you eating a sandwich?” 

“No,” Sabina responds, but it’s mumbly, and Elena’s suddenly thankful that smells aren’t transmitted over the wings, or else she’d be smelling a whole boatload of tuna. Not something she particularly likes. 

Elena sighs. In all her time during training, she was taught to always be focused, to always have her eye on the objective, and yet, Sabina does the exact opposite seventy five percent of the time, and (usually) gets away unscathed. 

“I see her,” Jane announces. “West side of the cemetery. Blue duffle coat, grey beanie, black sunglasses.” 

“Where’s she heading?” Bos prompts. 

“Heading directly east, moving on the second path,” Jane says, the scope of her tranq rifle moving as she follows the head of their target. Elena peers through her binoculars to the target.

There walks Fletcher Klaus, one arm hanging loosely by her side and the other holding a bouquet of pink camellias, perfectly organized and not a single petal out of place. Even from their position on the rooftop, Elena can see a scar lingering on the cheekbone of Fletcher’s face, deep and linear along the bone. Elena zooms in, and sure enough, the iridescent mark of the Angel wings are visibly seen on the side of Fletcher’s neck, just below her jawline. 

“I see the wings. It’s definitely her,” Elena confirms. 

“Sabina. Put the sandwich down and start moving,” Bos instructs with a certain ease that Elena finds extremely reassuring, even on a simple mission like this. Move in, get the target, move out. Simple as that. Elena glances to the roof where Sabina is, only to find her scaling the side and downward with an ease that Elena could only hope to replicate, even with her extensive Angel training. Bosley speaks again, voice clear, “Start tailing her. Don’t need to remind you to blend in.” 

Within seconds, Sabina is strolling at a brisk pace in the cemetery, hands tucked into a warm coat to protect her from the cold San Francisco air. 

“Hold. She’s stopped, over a grave. Can’t get a read on the name,” Jane cuts in. “Putting the flowers down.” 

“Good. She’s distracted. Elena, get into her phone, get a tracker on it. If we do that, we can find her later,” Bos says, and Elena quickly produces her tablet, immediately tracing the signal of Fletcher’s phone and moving to hack it. Elena blows air out of surprise at the amount of security encrypted into Fletcher’s phone, but she shouldn’t be shocked. It’s likely an Angel issued phone— lucky her, she knows how to crack one. 

Seconds later, Elena’s bypassed standard security encryptions. There’s nothing worthwhile on the phone— no phone numbers, no apps, no data. It’s almost as if the phone’s just  _ there _ and existing for no other reason than to just have a phone. 

“I’m in. Nothing here other than voice logs,” Elena answers. 

Jane pulls her gaze from the scope to give Elena a glance, before she’s looking back to the cemetery. Elena looks through her binoculars, seeing Fletcher adjusting the bouquet of flowers. Some dozens of feet away, Sabina lingers against a tree. Fletcher reaches into her pocket, rising to her full height as she looks at her phone. A thumb swipes at the screen, and then Fletcher’s walking again, shoulders relaxed casually. 

A bit too casually. Fletcher’s got no care in the world, walking languidly through the park with her hands in the pockets of her long coat and no visible care in the world. 

“Heading towards north exit.” Jane raises her head from the scope of her rifle to roll out her neck, before leaning back down again. 

“Moving to cut her off,” Sabina relays, and her trajectory in the cemetery changes almost immediately. “Got a read on the tombstone, bee-tee-dubs. Some dude named Kurt Klaus.” 

“Good. I’ll have the name run through our database. For now, we need to focus on getting Fletcher into the van and getting her back to HQ,” Bosley insists, and from below, the black van moves gently around the corner towards the north exit. Elena watches with a careful awe as Sabina coincidentally ends up on the same pathway as Fletcher, sporting a friendly smile. Bosley speaks again, “Jane, prepare to fire. Sabina, be ready to move Fletcher into the van once she’s knocked out.” 

Jane, with expert ease, follows Fletcher through her scope until she pulls the trigger. The dark goes sailing through the air with a  _ pop _ . 

Fletcher grabs Sabina by the arm, wrenching it into a position that looks extremely painful, and holding Sabina out at an angle where the dart makes home in the crook of Sabina’s neck. 

“What the—” Sabina’s comms go completely silent, and Jane’s eyes widen. Elena doesn’t know if she’s stopped breathing out of panic or shock, because now she’s watching Sabina be lifted onto Fletcher’s shoulder and carted away. Elena looks through her binoculars again— but they’re gone. 

“Where the fuck did they go?!” Bosley nearly shouts through the comms, and Jane whispers a very british sounding curse that doesn’t even sound remotely right at all, but it’s the panic that comes with seeing a teammate go down in the field. “Shit! Pulling up Sabina’s tracker. Jane, Elena, I’m coming around.”

“Let’s move!” Jane says, not even fazed— or, at least, in Elena’s eyes— about having tranqed her teammate. Maybe it’s happened in the past? Or perhaps they’ve just gotten used to the idea, considering Elena knocked herself out with a not-mint in the past. 

They hustle down the fire escape and onto the street, where Bosley pulls up in the black van seconds later. Jane throws Elena in first— either out of concern or habit, both are touching— before throwing herself in and slamming the door shut. 

“Elena, start tracking Sabina. Jane, I want you prepared to neutralize Fletcher,” Bosley instructs with a calm ease, like she wasn’t cursing just seconds earlier. Jane cocks her rifle with a few more darts, then glances back to Elena. 

“Where is she?” Her tone is hurried. It’s obvious Jane is extremely concerned for Sabina, and yet, she’s hiding it well under her stoney facade. Elena’s used to it. Elena looks to the screen of her tablet, now functioning again, and Elena brings up Sabina’s wings. 

“Heading down Broad Street!” Elena responds, and Bosley puts on the gas. Elena points through the windshield. “That car!” 

Ahead of them, a greyish blue Audi R8 weaves through traffic, and Jane immediately pulls herself out the window with a loaded pistol. She takes one shot to the tires, but it does nothing. Jane dips back in. 

“Bulletproof tires,” Jane says, her grip on the pistol tightening. Bosley floors it, and Elena dares to peer forward. The R8’s window rolls down, and a hand holding something that looks very familiar juts out. The arm tosses the object backward, and it lands on the front hatch of the van. The object blinks once, twice, and then the engine cuts off. 

“Oh, she did  _ not, _ ” Bosley grunts, and makes a sharp right to pull to the side of the road. 

“Is that one of our own tripmines?” Elena asks, watching as Jane yet again pulls herself out of the window to peel the tripmine off the hatch of the car. Jane hands it back to Elena, who takes it with interest. The Townsend Angel logo glitters on the bottom of the mine, and Elena exhales through her nostrils. “It’s an EMP. One of our own.” 

“Well, at least we know we have our girl,” Bosley remarks as the van rumbles to a stop. “The vans busted. We gotta move. Elena?” 

“Car’s moving toward the Western Properties on the bay. Warehouses?” Elena holds out the tablet to Bosley, who takes it and glances to the screen. 

“Warehouses. Keep tracking her. Jane, help me hotwire this car,” Bosley says. Elena takes back the tablet, taking a long inhale to herself. They’ll get her back. They’ll get their Sabina back. 


	2. Chapter 1 - broken wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which elena, jane, and bos track down their loveable blonde, and get a lot more than they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the amazing feedback from the first chapter! It's amazing to hear that you guys are enjoying Waiting Game so far.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_broken wings_ **

The warehouse where the tablet has pinged Sabina’s tracker to be isn’t much. Elena knows that to be because of Angel training. No gaudiness, everything has to be _discrete_ , and they have to be quiet. Well, in Jane’s case, with silencers, as she’s armed to the teeth with a vest and guns strapped to her legs. As for Elena… well, she has the mints. Bosley’s there too, leaning against the car they hijacked. The brief stop at the safehouse near Lake Merced took some time, but they needed everything they could get. 

“We’re up against a tough one, ladies. I’m coming with you,” Bosley says, sliding a pistol into the coat of her jacket. Then, she holds one out to Elena. The look of nerves is clear on Elena’s face— sure, she’s gotten used to guns with all the training she’s been through to become an Angel, but this is one of her first big field missions. There’s an air of reluctance as Elena takes the gun, checking the magazine, before checking that the safety is on. 

“She’s definitely in this one. What’s the plan?” Elena asks after yet again checking the tablet to confirm Sabina’s location. 

“We go in, down Fletcher before she can put up a fight, and get our girl back,” Bosley responds easily, a slight grin on the corner of her cheeks. Jane gives a simple nod of acknowledge before striding forward to take point on the operation, with Elena and Bosley not too far behind. 

The warehouse security systems are simple. 

A little _too_ simple, Elena thinks. Sabina would just tell Elena she’s being too paranoid, but in this particular circumstance, Elena thinks her paranoia might be right. 

The doors slide wide open, flooding the warehouse with midday sun. Jane scans the vast space with her rifle, doing a sweep as they walk in cautiously. With every step, Jane’s boot’s echo off the metal walls. The R8 from earlier is parked and beside it, a motorcycle. 

“Wait,” Jane holds up her fist. She glances to the two behind her. “You hear that?” 

Muffled shouts.

And the doors slam closed, essentially locking them in. It was their only clear path out, and Elena immediately searches for more. After the whole John Bosley fiasco, she’s been vigilant in always having another way out. 

“We know you’re in here, Fletcher! We’re not here to hurt you!” Bosley shouts, her voice drowning in the sudden noise of metal grinding against each other. They all divert their eyes to the source of the noise, only to see their precious Sabina sitting in a chair, hands cuffed to the arms, and a piece of duct tape over her mouth. 

And beside her, hovering over a workbench, is Fletcher, her coat off, and working on something that none of them can see. Just the sight of Sabina, _their_ Sabina, cuffed and silenced, sends the entire group on high alert, drawing weapons. The weight of the gun in Elena’s hand feels sobering as she points to the back of a real, live human being. 

“Hands up and keep them in sight, Fletcher,” Bosley instructs, her voice crisp and clear. Yet, Fletcher keeps tinkering away at the table, reddish brown hair damp— fresh from a shower— hanging loosely, save for a small bun keeping some of her hair up. A white tank top is riddled with oil stains, and green pants are tucked into clunky boots. 

Sabina is screaming through her duct tape. Her eyes are frantic, wide as she tries to communicate something to her team. Jane growls— a noise Elena has come to know as a warning— before firing a tranq dart. There’s no way it won’t land in the target now. 

Except, it doesn’t. It goes right through. 

“A hologram. You’ve got to be joking,” Bosley mutters, catching onto the same thought Elena has. The hologram flickers for a brief moment, before it turns around and stares at the group, eyes dead. 

“Light’s out, Angels.” A gravelly voice— Fletcher’s, it has to be— speaks. 

The last thing Elena sees before the lights shut out is the pure panic in Sabina’s eyes. 

“Stick close,” Bosley says, and a back hits Elena’s firmly, small enough for her to know it’s Bosley’s, but then, it’s gone two seconds later, along with a garbled curse. 

Something wet and sticky hits the front of Elena’s jacket, the impact sending a shock up her spine. She glances down in the darkness to see a glowing splatter of paint, marking her clearly in the darkness. Moments later, another splatter hits Jane, who’s still beside her. 

“Bos!” Elena shouts into the darkness, and she _panics_. They did darkness training, but this is entirely out of her league, now that she’s got glow in the dark paint smeared across her front. Bos has disappeared— Jane’s grunts are indicative of fighting, and here’s Elena, stranded in the darkness with no sense of where to look, other than the sounds of boots scuffing. 

_Elena, calm down. Follow the sound. Help Jane,_ her mind tells her. Elena shuts her eyes for a brief second, before opening her eyes again and following the glowing paint. 

The lights flicker on, and Jane’s on the ground, straining to get up. Elena moves— but she finds herself falling to the ground, impacting no later than half a second onto the concrete. She glances down; thick, metal ropes have tied themselves to hell and back on Elena’s ankles, rendering her useless. Sabina’s still tied up, moving and jerking around the chair to no abandon, and Jane’s groaning, pushing herself up to the ground. 

“Tell Bosley I don’t want any fucking part of his bullshit anymore!” Fletcher shouts, her voice booming. She kicks away Jane’s gun, the rifle scattering across the concrete floor. She looks just like the hologram, her hands stained black with oil, and there’s some tools resting on her hips, like she was just working on a project before they arrived. 

Elena gets her bearings— Jane’s standing up now, groaning and moaning, but she’s standing. Sabina’s still tied up and Bosley— Bosley’s upside down? She’s hanging, a rope tied around her ankle. And yet, Bosley gets herself down and out of the trap with ease. 

Jane immediately surges toward Fletcher, throwing a fist that moves far too fast for Elena’s eyes to see, and Fletcher’s ducking out of the way with a roll to the side. A wrench goes flying from Fletcher’s hands into the back of Jane’s leg. 

“Elena!” Bosley hisses, causing Elena to jerk her head. Bosley’s pulling apart the cord keeping her legs bound together. Bosley jerks her head to a still-bound Sabina, speaking with an all too calm voice. “Get her loose. I’m going to help Jane.” 

“Got it!” Elena says, taking Bosley’s hand and being pulled to a stand. 

She races across the warehouse, reaching Sabina in seconds. The sounds of fighting get more intense, with Bosley joining the fray to help an already injured Jane in subduing Fletcher, who’s putting up one hell of a fight. 

Elena reaches for the duct tape, muttering a quick “sorry!” before ripping it clean off of Sabina’s mouth. 

“Motherfucker!” Sabina cusses, her eyes looking at Elena with concern. “Are you okay, honeypot?” 

“I’m fine! You’re the one handcuffed to a chair!” Elena says. She pulls a small case out of her jacket, taking the lockpick from it and in seconds, she’s got the cuffs off. 

“Thanks, sweetpea!” Sabina says, smacking a kiss onto Elena’s cheek before rubbing at her wrists. There’s a brief wink that makes Elena’s heart jump. “Want to go help me hotwire the Audi?” 

A loud clatter causes them to look away from each other. A metal chair, plucked from nowhere, has slammed into the ground, and it seems that Fletcher’s finally breaking down. It was hard enough for her to go against Jane alone, and now that Bos, an ex-Angel with years upon years of training, Elena can see that Fletcher’s stamina draining, but the anger is still so evident on her face. There’s rage in her eyes, Elena knows that much. 

Bos kicks Jane’s rifle back toward Jane, and the former MI6 agent nabs it from the ground with ease, cocking it and firing it. The dart lands squarely in Fletcher’s shoulder, and Jane lowers her rifle. A second passes, and still, Fletcher moves, ripping out the empty dart and throwing it to the ground, smashing it beneath her boot. Another second goes by, and Elena watches as the sedative does nothing to slow the rogue Angel down. 

If anything, Fletcher is completely unfazed. 

They clash once more, Fletcher grabbing the rifle and whirling around, jerking it out of Jane’s hands before checking her in the stomach with it. 

“You lot are the best he could do?” Fletcher asks as she shuffles backward, hands dismantling the rifle and throwing the pieces apart to the floor with a speed that feels inhuman. She didn’t even have to look down to pull apart the rifle— a fact that intrigues Elena more than scares her. Fletcher defends an oncoming attack from Bosley, a punch thrown so hard that Elena’s palm hurts to watch Fletcher push it away and deliver a swift elbow to the side. 

Fletcher takes a suckerpunch to the face by Bos, her lip splitting open and blood trickling down her chin as she recoils backwards, only for her to be grappled in a vicious chokehold by Jane. They’re both mottled with bruises— signs of a battle well fought, but it’s still roaring onward. 

“If Bosley wants me,” Fletcher chokes out, pulling at Jane’s arm with every morsel of strength left, nails digging into the otherwise smooth skin of Jane’s arm, “He’ll have to kill me for it.” 

“He’s gone, Fletcher!” Bos retorts, and the pure malice on Fletcher’s face is gone, wiped in seconds with Bos’s words. She no longer fights, grip loosening on Jane’s arm. Bos continues, “He’s locked away. He can’t hurt you.” 

Fletcher’s eyes widen with pure shock, and she says something far, far too quiet for Elena to here before her eyes roll to the back of her head and she goes slack. Jane lowers a now unconscious Fletcher to the ground, Fletcher’s arms limp by her sides. 

“Jane! I had her!” Bos says, extending an arm to Fletcher. 

“She punched me in the face five times,” Jane says with such a deadpan voice that Sabina ends up snickering into Elena’s shoulder as they stride over to the others. Jane wipes some stray blood from her face, grimacing as she glances at the bruises on her arms. 

“Glow in the dark paint. She’s smart,” Bos remarks, eyes only lingering on the paint on Elena’s chest before she glances to the warehouse. “Split up. We need to raid this place from top to bottom before we call in HQ.” 

“Yay, I get to steal stuff!” Sabina cheers, and if it weren’t for Jane giving her a glare worthy of the Reaper himself, she probably would’ve cheered all the way to the motorcycle tucked away in the corner. 

Bos hovers over Fletcher with a contemplative look on her face, so Elena kneels beside her. A careful hand wipes away some blood at the corner of Fletcher’s mouth, and Bos tucks the stained handkerchief into her jacket. 

“She talked about John Bosley like he was the devil,” Elena comments quietly, resting her arms on her knees. Bos hums, reaching towards the Angel wings on Fletcher’s neck. She presses her fingers to them, and the mark shines brighter, flashing twice before dimming down. Reactivated, because now, there’s another Angel showing up on Bos’s tablet. 

“Look at it from an Angel’s perspective. Why?” Bosley glances to Elena, and Elena inhales. This was a part of her training, reading the scene and making the most sensible answer. 

“Well, she manually deactivated her wings, disabling her tracker about a year ago. Bosley retired a year and a half ago, and we know he was working towards,” Elena takes a breath, “Overthrowing Townsend. If Fletcher knew Bosley, then…” 

Elena runs through a dozen different ideas in her head. 

“Fletcher had to be running from him. She turned off her tracker, and from the looks of this place… it’s empty. The rope is frayed, there’s barely anything in here, and it’s such a huge space,” Elena concludes, eyes surveying the wide area. There’s a room tucked away in the corner, and Elena can faintly hear Sabina yelling about something and no doubt Jane grumbling out responses, as per usual. 

Bos hums. “Good. See this?” 

She pushes Fletcher’s arm upward, the tan, freckled skin exposed to the harsh lights of the warehouse. All along the inside of her bicep are pale lines, all in a coordinated row, diagonally slanted against her bicep. Scar lines, minor cuts at best. Elena knows this. She studied for hours every night on every subject the trainers threw at her. She remembers pouring over texts upon texts of information to get everything right. 

She was a good student at MIT, and she was a good student in the main base in LA. Nothing’s changed. 

“Mithridatism?” Elena proposes with a slight edge in her voice. She’s seen pictures from her textbooks, but it’s different seeing it in person. 

“Bingo,” Bos whispers, pushing Fletcher’s arm back down into the original place. 

Poison immunity. Elena swallows. 

Who are they dealing with?

Elena looks at Fletcher a little longer. There's a cord around her neck, and when Elena reaches forward and tugs on it, it reveals a necklace, where a silver signet ring rests comfortably. No doubt something important by the looks of it. 

“Jane! I need your help getting Klaus into the van, give her the good cuffs,” Bos shouts as the other two Angels, satisfied with their search into the rooms, approach with some items in their hands. “Sabina, drop the keys, we’re not taking the Audi. Or the Kawasaki.” 

“Boo, you’re no fun!” Sabina pouts, frown lining her lips, but she throws the keys into the furthest corner of the warehouse with every bit of strength in her. Jane leans down to hoist Fletcher into a fireman’s carry, and out of the warehouse. Elena watches Fletcher’s expressionless face all the way out, and sighs. 

“Good job, ladies.” Bos pats Elena on the shoulder briefly before following Jane. Sabina comes up next. 

“We managed to get the files on her computer onto this drive. You’re the techy one, you can look at them. Reading is boring, anyway,” Sabina says, a cheery grin on her face, as if she hadn’t been bound and silenced minutes earlier. Sabina glances to the open doors of the warehouse, and to the van where Jane is no doubt buckling a still unconscious Fletcher into the strongest cuffs they have. “You can take a look in the office if you want, but we raided it bare. I’m sure you’ll find _something_ , with those skinny fingers.”

The wink that follows is not at all concealed, and Elena wishes she could shrug it off as easily as Jane does (when it comes to Sabina’s obvious flirtations), she’s still in the unfortunate phase where any compliment she receives from either of her teammates causes an immediate blush. 

And, usually, Sabina starts laughing. Which she’s doing now. 

Sabina waves her fingers as she walks away, a certain pep in her step that Elena only wishes she could replicate. How is she so cheery all the time? Must be exhausting, Elena thinks. Instead of sweeping the office, Elena takes a gander at the traps she saw earlier near the toolbench. 

Most of them are modified versions of Townsend standard traps. Shockwave amplifiers are stuck to tripwires, and a kevlar vest, infused with a neodymium weave strong enough to cause a bullet to float above it. A bullet made of copper, no less, which should only be able to be magnetized under circumstances where eddy currents are involved. Strong currents, too. 

Elena inhales, then picks up the kevlar vest. It’s worth taking if Fletcher’s figured out a way to deflect bullets entirely. 

It’s clear to Elena that Fletcher isn’t exactly a tech wiz like Elena, she’s more of a engineer. A different kind of scientist. 

“Let’s get moving, girls. We’ve got Angels coming in later to sweep the place clean,” Bos says, and Elena spares one last glance to the warehouse before stepping out, experimental kevlar vest in hand and flash drive in the other. 

Fletcher Klaus becomes more and more interesting the more Elena learns about her. She has hope that Fletcher’s still good at heart. 


	3. Chapter 2 - angel locked down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fletcher faces the consequences of going rogue, but finds that everything isn't as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of comments im getting on this is astounding. thank you guys so much for reading!

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_angel locked down_ **

All things considered, it could be worse for Fletcher. She could locked down in the deepest recesses of the Townsend cells, with no sunlight and maximum security, with twenty four hour surveillance and armed guards in front of the door. 

No, rather, she’s in a holding cell, her hands cuffed together, and staring through the bulletproof glass and counting the amount of holes carved in to let fresh air into the cell. She’s sitting on an inch thick mattress, which isn’t the worst she’s dealt with in the past (Fletcher will take this over concrete any day). 

If Fletcher had one screwdriver, a phillips head, she wouldn’t be wearing the cuffs, but it’s a give and take scenario. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?

“Oh, nice, you got the good cuffs!” 

Fletcher glances through the glass to see a woman. Not just any woman. The one she tied up a day ago. 

“It could be worse,” Fletcher replies, the tampered down scottish accent slipping out. It’s been a long time since she’s needed to speak in regular English and not the modified English that the Scots (i.e. Fletcher) are normally yelling in. Note to self, go back to the safehouse in Edinburgh. It’s been some time since Fletcher’s been there. Always nice to be surrounded by like minded people. If there’s even anyone there, anymore. Edinburgh’s not the most popular destination.

Some silence passes. 

“Sorry for the whole ‘tying you up on a chair’ thing, by the way,” Fletcher says, raising her bound hands in apology, as if it does anything to make the situation better. 

The blonde crooks her head to the side, a humoring smile on her face. “It could’ve been worse.” She waves a hand languidly, relaxed with no true malicious intent as she continues, “Sabina.” 

“Fletcher.” Fletcher glances around the cell, to the pristinely painted white walls. It makes her feel like she’s in a room in an asylum, like in the movies. Only thing she’s missing is padded walls and a strait jacket. 

It’s better than what John Bosley has. 

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Fletcher asks, her voice quiet. Her eyes dip to Sabina. “John?” 

A noise that sounds like a fart comes out of Sabina’s mouth. “Hell if I know. I was taking a nap during that debriefing.” 

Fletcher’s been an Angel long enough to smell the lie right off the bat. Sabina wasn’t trying, if her sympathetic smile says anything about it. 

“He was the Bosley who picked me up, you know. Recruited me. Told me I was going to be the best of them,” Fletcher says, her voice barely above a whisper. She brings her arms upward, her knees following, bare feet moving along the scratchy fabric of the mattress. Fletcher lets out a laugh that’s more so pity than joy. “What a lie that turned out to be. I’m more devil than angel, now.” 

“Hell always has the best parties,” Sabina says, leaning on the glass. She jerks her head to Fletcher. “Where you from?” 

“Not the type to read files, huh?” Fletcher replies, raising a brow. There’s a scar that slices through her left eyebrow neatly, only adding to the multitude already on her body. “Scotland.” 

“Oh, country of the fancy skirts, right?” Sabina makes a vague gesture to her lower half, as if she were twirling in a skirt. Fletcher rolls her eyes, but doesn’t stop the small smile from coming onto her face.

“They’re  _ kilts, _ but you get the gist,” Fletcher corrects. Sabina waves her hand. 

“Skirts, kilts, same thing. One’s just plaid,” Sabina says. 

Fletcher pauses. “It’s… tartan.” 

“Tart?” 

“Tartan.” 

“How many do you own?” Sabina squints. 

“None. We don’t wear them. At least, I never did,” Fletcher shifts, planting her feet onto the concrete. 

“What about the bagpipes?” 

Fletcher snorts, almost laughing. “Awful! They hurt my ears!” 

“Are you two done squabbling?” Sabina and Fletcher both promptly shut up and look to see Bosley, who doesn’t appear to be impressed with the oh-so-riveting topic of their conversation. Bosley looks at Sabina for only a fraction of a second, and Sabina’s gone in seconds with a quick ‘bye!’

Bosley turns to Fletcher, who stands up and approaches the glass. 

“You know, for an Angel, she knows remarkably little about Scottish culture,” Fletcher comments as Bosley inputs the code for the cell. The glass slides to the side, and Fletcher steps out. “To the guillotine?” 

“To the interrogation room, Klaus. This way.” Bosley’s hand on Fletcher’s shoulder is firm as she leads the former rogue Angel away from the holding cells and down the hallways of the expansive headquarters, located in sunny LA. Fletcher keeps her head forward, ignoring the curious glances of other Angels wondering what the hell another Angel is doing with cuffs around her wrists. 

Long story. Likely to be explained in a few moments. 

Fletcher is escorted into an enclosed room, and the first instinct is to gauge the room. One camera in the north corner. No windows. Padded walls. 

Nothing out of the usual. She’s been here, under different circumstances, of course. 

“Drink.”

Fletcher reaches forward and grabs the cup with both hands. It’s coffee, warm to the touch. She brings it to her lips, and inhales ever so slightly. Bitter smell— almost like garlic— that’s barely noticeable, but Fletcher picks up on it. Hell, these are the things she was trained to pick up on. She places the cup down, and slides it forward. 

“Sodium pentothal. I’ll decline,” Fletcher says, a slight smile on her face. She shrugs. “Wouldn’t work on me anyway. Not unless you gave me a dosage worthy of a horse. Didn’t you read my file?” 

“Should’ve known that truth serum would count as one of the poisons,” Bolsey retorts, taking the dup and putting it elsewhere. There’s a barely there satisfied smile on her face. “High tolerance?” 

“Naturally. I declined the seduction class in favor of poisons for a reason,” Fletcher says, making a gesture with her bound hands. “Didn’t feel like learning how to make men look at me. Not exactly something I want in life.” 

“Would it be wrong of me to assume you’d rather prefer women doing that?” 

“Was it the lack of lacy bras you found at the warehouse that gave it away?” Fletcher just cringes thinking about lace. So itchy. 

There’s a humorous glint in Bosley’s eye. “Maybe. Maybe not. An Angel never tells.” 

That’s enough for a small, miniscule smile to appear on Fletcher’s face, despite the dead silence that now permeates the air between them. There’s a sudden weight on Fletcher’s chest, her mind preparing herself for the questions to come.

By all technicality, Fletcher’s a prisoner of Townsend Agency. Oh, how the tables have turned. Bosley takes a seat across Fletcher, folding her hands on the table, asking the simple question of, “Why’d you run?” 

Fletcher clicks her tongue, glancing to the table. Honesty hasn’t ever been one of her strongest suits, but now… honesty might just be the most important thing for her survival. She knows what happens to Angels who go rogue. She knows the risks, and she did it. Fletcher had her reasons for leaving. 

“John found me a decade ago, an urchin on the street, begging for food, for money, for anything. He took me in, gave me the best education of my life, and made me an Angel. For a cost,” Fletcher raises a finger. “Before the agency banned mithridatism permanently, he pushed me through that class. I got chosen as a student to be subjected to the teachings, and I became resistant to truth serum, to tranquilizer fluid, and poisons of all kind, like methanol or ethylene glycol.”

A pause. 

“And even, in small dosages, cyanide does nothing to me,” Fletcher says, swallowing roughly. Bosley’s eyebrows raise. “I was allowed to do this, to be an Angel, for one price. I had to be under John’s service until he became Charlie. Then he would make me a Bosley, and I would have everything I ever wanted.”

Bosley’s silent, listening and carefully gauging Fletcher’s words. 

“Promises that became more empty the more I realized what was happening. John was amassing his own network of contacts separate from the Agency. I started getting sent out on more recon and infiltration missions that were off the record, off the book, but I was still getting paid, so I stayed quiet.”

Fletcher sighs gently, leaning forward. Just talking about this is making her feel utterly exhausted. She fiddles with her fingers— a habit that seemingly came back in her extended ‘vacation’ away from the Agency. She curls her fingers into fists, an attempt to stop herself from being so jittery. 

The price of admission to something like this could mean Fletcher would be fired, stripped of her title as an Angel, and sentenced to keep her job a secret for the rest of her life. What would people think if they knew she worked for an Agency that made her essentially immune to deadly poisons?

“When I realized what John was planning after the first whispers of his retirement started going around, I panicked. I thought about going to Charlie, or another Bosley, but John had tabs on me. Knew what I was doing every hour of the day, every day of the week,” Fletcher laughs bitterly, relaxing her tensed hands. They fall flat to the table with a small  _ thud. _ “I had only one option if I wanted to get away from what John was plotting.” 

“You had to go AWOL,” Bosley concludes. Fletcher’s eyes flit to the camera tucked in the corner of the room, counting the seconds between each beep of the red light. 

Bosley produces a photo on her tablet, turning it to Fletcher. 

“You know this man?” Bosley asks, and Fletcher glances to the screen. A bitter laugh escapes Fletcher. 

“Hodak,” Fletcher answers, scrutinizing the dead-eyed expression of Hodak in the picture. “What a numpty. One of John’s men.” 

“We know. He was killed in a fight.” 

“Good. Fuckin’ dobber,” Fletcher mutters, rolling her shoulders back. The corner of her mouth tilts up. “Who killed him?” 

Bosley doesn’t answer. Fair enough. Fletcher is on a need-to-know basis, at the minimum.

“It seems I have all the answers to my questions,” Bosley says, standing up. 

“What happens now, Bos?” Fletcher asks, pressing her palms together. 

“Cute you think you can ask me those things,” Bosley says with a smirk, pulling Fletcher out of her seat by the strap of her tank top.

Then, Fletcher is sitting in her cell again. All things considered, again, it could be worse. 

~~~~~

Fletcher doesn’t expect much. 

She really doesn’t expect being put on probation. Or being permitted to roam freely around the LA headquarters. She supposes they only let her do that because they know Fletcher’s a creature of habit. She spends her time where she chooses, and more often than not, it’s the garage, where she can be surrounded by things she understands. If not the garage, than the armory, studying the weapons on hand and devising ways to improve them. 

Still, the garage has all the tools Fletcher needs to do anything she wants. 

And yet, the one thing HQ didn’t permit her is access to everything she was working on before she got carted back here. Meaning, she can’t continue her work on her prototype rifle, lovingly nicknamed the Ghost Gun. 

Knowing HQ the way Fletcher does, she’ll bet that they’ve taken the information and prototype to their scientists, and they’re working to develop a Townsend regulated version. Good for them. Just another thing that Fletcher goes uncredited for. Fine by her. She’s just happy that she hasn’t been laid off completely. 

Imagine how boring Fletcher’s life would be if she weren’t being shot at, stabbed at, or drugged every other day of her life? Now that is something truly horrifying. 

Fletcher grabs a wrench off the workbench, walking back to the car that needed to be checked before being sent out. Normally, these sort of things would be left to the resident mechanics on site, but Fletcher knows them, and they know her, so she got a car to work on. 

Engine’s being icky. Oil needs replacing. Serpentine belt is completely busted. What hell did this car go through? Fletcher sighs as she tightens a loose nut on the engine, then turns back to wipe her oil-stained hands on the towel secured to her hip. And before she can replace the belt, she needs to check the underside for any loose pipes. 

Fletcher sits, lays down, then rolls under the car to examine the chassis for damage. There’s something about her working so diligently on a car— or any piece of equipment, really— that soothes her mind. And considering all that’s happened in the past few days… she needs it. It’s odd being back in the intense atmosphere of the Townsend Agency after 12 and a half months of being alone in a warehouse that didn’t have air conditioning. 

(Granted, San Francisco only has three types of weather. Rain, clouds, or rain  _ and _ clouds. Didn’t matter much.)

Her hands nimbly secure a loose wire back into place, and she rolls out from underneath the car, sitting upward. The stain of grease and oil on her hands feels different now that she’s back here. Feels normal… almost. Like she doesn’t have constantly be checking over her shoulder for people following her. 

Fletcher snorts. She still does that. She doesn’t trust the Agency as much as she used to, for obvious reasons. 

She places the wrench back down in the proper spot, and sighs. This is about as much work as she can do before crossing her bounds. She’s an Angel, not a mechanic. 

Well, an Angel on probation, that is. 

Fletcher glances across the empty garage, and then to the clock on the wall. 

A creature of habit, indeed. Fletcher never sleeps. If she does, it’s either because she was knocked out or given sleeping drugs. The latter of which she’s built a tolerance to, so it’s really the whole ‘being punched to sleep’ thing that’ll work. 

Three AM. Not too bad. She could stop now, go to her quarters, wash up, and be in bed by three thirty. 

“Good morning, Angel.” 

Fletcher looks to the beeping red speaker on the wall, and crosses her arms. “Good morning, Charlie.” 

“Little late for you to be awake, no?” 

Fletcher shrugs. “It’s the afternoon in Edinburgh.”

A warm laugh follows. Fletcher’s never met Charlie— no one has— and yet, she finds his voice to be extremely comforting. 

“I heard of your return to the Agency. Welcome back, Angel.” 

“Thank you. Feels good to be back, Charlie,” Fletcher says, going to the small sink near the cabinets in the back of the miniscule garage. She turns on the tap to wash her hands of the black grease. 

“I know you feel betrayed by John. I do too, Angel. He was the best of us.” 

Fletcher’s hands brace against the sink as she takes a reassuring breath. She didn’t expect anyone to bring up John Bosley to her. Least of all Charlie himself. Herself? Fletcher doesn’t seem to know anything at this point. She didn’t know John was plotting revenge, and she didn’t know that he had been locked away a few months ago. Fletcher can excuse herself for the second one. 

But she should’ve seen that what John was doing wasn’t moral. But Fletcher didn’t. 

“Keep your head up, Angel. Charlie, out.” 

The speaker goes dark, and Fletcher lets out the breath she was holding. Mindlessly, she wipes her hands against a clean rag, and leans on the sink.

John didn’t betray Fletcher. She went with it, and he played her like a damned fiddle. 

“Miss Klaus?” Fletcher glances upward to see a small woman standing by the doorway, a laptop clutched to her chest. Her eyes survey the room until they land on Fletcher in the corner. 

“You look familiar,” Fletcher says. She really does; the hair looks familiar, and those brown eyes hold some recognition. 

“Elena Houghlin, I was one of the Angels on the mission to bring you back here,” Elena explains, a kind smile on her face as she extends her hand out to Fletcher. Fletcher takes it, and keeps her grip firm. Elena takes a step back, smiling as brightly as ever. She does look tired, and her clothes are bit rumpled. “I noticed you were in here, and I just wanted to say that your idea for the magnet vest with neodymium is  _ genius _ .”

“You…” Fletcher blinks. “You know about that?” 

“Yeah!” Elena responds, eager. “I saw it after you got knocked out by Jane, and I took it back with me. Took a look at it and basically figured out that you’re a genius.” 

Fletcher’s pleasantly surprised. “Neodymium is a magnet with a grade of—” 

“Fifty two! And with the eddy currents you wove into the fabric—”

Fletcher grins. “It magnetizes the bullets and stops them.”

“Tentatively. You haven’t done testing,” Elena says, and she catches the brief look of surprise that passes over Fletcher’s face. “I read through your logs. Mandatory sweep.” 

“At least someone gets it around here. You good with traps and bombs?” Fletcher says, walking towards the door. Elena spins around and follows, stepping out so Fletcher can flick the lights and shut the door. 

“I’m good with computers and coding,” Elena answers as they walk down the hallway. 

“Did you get sucked into the vortex and suddenly realize it’s way too late for you to be awake?” Fletcher asks, leaning over to knock Elena with her elbow lightly. 

Elena huffs. “It’s a bad habit. Bos wants me to gets this project done before my next mission, which is… I don’t know. What were you working on back there?” 

“Cars. HQ confiscated all of my stuff—” Fletcher pauses. “Except for my vest prototype, thanks to you.” 

Walking down the hallway spurs a lively conversation about how Fletcher managed to rig the Townsend miniature EMP’s to deactivate car engines, and how Elena cracked Fletcher’s phone (though Fletcher hadn’t bothered to put that many securities on her phone. She never used it, and the tracker was disabled). 

It’s nice to talk to someone else. 

“You’re kidding! You stopped Sabina from getting pulverized by hacking into the systems of the rock grinder?” Fletcher asks out of bewilderment. She shakes her head, exhaling gently. “That’s one of the strangest things I’ve  _ heard _ .” 

“What have you had to do?” Elena asks, curiosity brimming her voice. 

Fletcher cracks a grin as she recalls one of her personal favorite missions. “One time, when I was dispatched to a mission in Russia, I had to crack into a safe. Normally, I would have what I like to call a hockey puck, but it’s just a tiny bomb that destroys locks on safes.” 

“I remember those, I had to dismantle one and then put it back together again,” Elena says, tucking her laptop underneath her arm.

“Yeah! Boy, that class was  _ fun! _ ” Fletcher claps her hands together. She waves her hands. “Anyway, back to the story. I didn’t have a puck on me, so I had to use C4.” 

Elena frowns. “That doesn’t seem so strange.” 

“I was on a yacht. And if I didn’t use the exact amount of C4 down to the milligram, I’d blown myself and everyone else on the boat sky high,” Fletcher continues, making a dramatic  _ fwoosh _ sound to emphasize. She clicks her tongue. “I did manage to blow the safe and not blow the boat.” 

Elena’s a good person to talk to, Fletcher find. Conversation flows easily between them, and when Fletcher stops at her room at the HQ, Elena even goes as far as to give Fletcher a quick hug and a cheery ‘see you later!’ that sounds a bit too cheery for a scientist at three AM, but Fletcher doesn’t care much. 

Though, as Fletcher shuts the door to her room and leans against it, she realizes that for a brief second that Elena might just be the only person Fletcher has had a nice, decent conversation with in  _ months. _ Well, not really. She’s excluding the absolutely riveting conversation about tartan with Sabina some days ago. 

Fletcher’s kept to herself. She’s awaiting her next assignment or when she’ll have her case reviewed. If she’s deemed a liability, she’ll have her title of Angel stripped. However, if the Bosleys deem her fit enough to continue being an Angel, Fletcher will be allowed to stay. 

She can only hope, right?


	4. Chapter Three - new dawn, new angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fletcher's time at the LA headquarters comes to a close when charlie sends her on a mission with three angels to edinburgh. nothing bad could happen with that, right?

**CHAPTER THREE**

**_new dawn, new angel_ **

When Fletcher’s Townsend regulated tablet pings with the message  _ report to DB 2 at 0800, _ she can’t say she’s surprised. 

Fletcher’s  _ excited _ . As of right now, at this very moment, she’s walking towards the very debriefing room. Debriefing usually means new mission, and new mission means that Fletcher isn’t confined to the LA headquarters any longer. 

So yeah, Fletcher’s got her fingers crossed. 

It hasn’t been too boring, really. It’s just so busy at the headquarters that it gets far too stuffy. Granted, Elena’s been the sole relief. Just last night, the two of them stuck it out in the garage and spitballed ideas back to each other. Fletcher handled the technical aspect, and Elena controlled the coding. The exchange of ideas turned into working on the magnetized vest, and they parted ways with a prototype.

Fletcher feels hopeful. That’s better than she felt a week ago. All she needs is a new beginning, a beginning for her to get her shit together and move the fuck on from John Bosley. 

Sure, he made her an Angel in title. But Fletcher made herself an Angel in reality. She’ll be damned if she lets all that hard work go to waste. 

Fletcher whistles a happy tune as she tucks her hands into her pockets, meandering down the hallway. The presence of other footsteps sneaks into her ears, and normally, she’d ignore it, but the hallways are empty besides Fletcher. 

She quietens her whistling ever so slightly, her ears perked. The footsteps increase and Fletcher tips her head upward. She waits, listening as the echo becomes louder until she moves her arm back and—

“Ow! Fucky!” 

Fletcher pulls her forearm from Sabina’s throat, looking highly unimpressed as Sabina rubs at her throat. 

“Did anyone ever tell you  _ not _ to sneak up on an Angel?” Fletcher asks, pulling Sabina off the wall by the front of her unbuttoned hawaiian shirt— is that a mustard stain?— and dusts off Sabina’s shoulders before patting her. It’s habitual. 

Sabina’s nose wrinkles. “I  _ am _ wearing boots.” 

“You deserved that,” Fletcher remarks, continuing down the hallway. She’s got somewhere to be, but even she can’t hold back the laugh that comes out. 

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. It’s subjective.” Sabina falls into step with Fletcher. “Where ya going?” 

Fletcher glances over to Sabina, watching the bleached blonde pick a tiny ball of lint off her arm. “DB 2. You?” 

Sabina perks up almost immediately, her face brightening. “No way! Me too!” 

What’s Sabina got to do with it? Fletcher concludes, with her big girl brain, that Sabina’s likely a part of whatever mission Charlie is assigning them. Sabina chatters endlessly about the street hotdogs she ate earlier in the day (note to self, do not stand near Sabina when she farts later) all the way to the debriefing room, and honestly, Fletcher is very intrigued. 

“So you’re saying you had one with mustard and one without? Why not just have two with mustard?” Fletcher asks as they walk through the door inside the room, holding her hands out as if she were holding two hot dogs. 

“I like to have variety! The one without mustard had relish,” Sabina defends, and Fletcher makes a humming noise. 

“That balances it out. Mustard does not go with relish,” Fletcher says, and Sabina snaps her fingers and whisper shouts ‘yes!’

Fletcher looks over to the end of the table to see Elena, who gives her a happy wave, and another Angel who looks very, very familiar. 

Almost comically, Sabina leans over to whisper— quite loudly— and point towards the unknown Angel. “That’s Jane. You punched her in the face and then she knocked you out. She’s scary, so don’t fuck with her.” 

Fletcher’s face screws up and she sighs. “That… makes a lot of sense.” 

“Don’t worry, she’s basically a puppy once you get to know her. One time, our safehouse blew up— like, really big  _ BOOM _ kind of blow up— and she cried when I was unconscious. It was really cute,” Sabina says, sticking her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts, and when she notices Jane glaring daggers at her, Sabina raises her brow. “What? Did you really think I was going to let our Angel baby Fletcher be terrified?” 

“I’m your what now?” Fletcher looks incredulously to Sabina. Sabina merely squeezes Fletcher’s arms, makes an appreciative face, then hops onto Fletcher, forcing the other woman to catch her. Fletcher looks to the other two for help. “Is she always like this?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Elena replies, nodding her head gently. 

Out of the corner of Fletcher’s eye, she can see Jane gauging her carefully, watching her like a predator would a prey. Fletcher feels only the slightest bit of guilt; there’s a bruise on the underside of Jane’s eye that has yet to go away, and it only makes her look ten times more frightening. If Fletcher hadn’t inflicted that bruise herself, she’d wonder what type of shit Jane did to get that. 

(Jane fought someone in the dark and had glowing paint smeared all over her like a target. That’s what happened). 

So, Fletcher resigns herself to carrying Sabina bridal style until the end of time, because the latter doesn’t seem inclined to leave Fletcher’s arms. At all. 

Thankfully, there’s a brief moment of reprieve from the suddenly silence in the room as Bos steps in. She doesn’t even glance over at Fletcher and Sabina before saying, “Sabina, get off Fletcher and sit down.” 

“Aw, but she’s so strong!” Sabina pouts, but Fletcher takes the opportunity to just… place Sabina down on the table. Sabina, the absolute idiot that she is, strikes a dramatic pose before slinking into a chair and throwing her feet onto the table. 

Bosley sits down, hushes the table (not that she needed to) before turning to the speaker on the table. 

A red light beeps once, before the warm voice of Charlie breaks through. “Good morning, Angels!” 

“Good morning, Charlie!” Elena, Jane, Sabina, and Fletcher all reply in sync, and Fletcher has to spare a glance around with a huge smile on her face. Damn, who knew that felt so good to say in a group? Fletcher leans back in the chair, ready to listen to Charlie’s debriefing. If Charlie’s doing it, then it has to be important.

If it’s important, then what is Fletcher, an Angel on probation, doing here? Nevertheless, Fletcher’s happy to be here. 

“Angels, I’ve personally selected you four to handle a precarious situation currently happening in the United Kingdom. We’ve been given intel by an anonymous source detailing an invention currently in production and testing stages at Caduceus Industries. If this intel is confirmed to be true, then the safety of the world is in danger.” 

Oh, cool, world threatening situation, and they put Fletcher, someone who enjoys watching stuff go  _ boom _ onto the team? Okay, yeah, makes sense. Fletcher nods to no one but herself. Regardless, she can feel the tension in the room escalate. Elena looks panicked, the same kind of panic she has on her face when she’s on a coding deadline. Sabina puts her hands over her mouth, shock crossing her eyes. 

Fletcher thinks about how Elena and Sabina are opening showing their emotions on their face in the presence of someone they barely know. Well, Elena knows Fletcher a little more, but still. It’s an unwritten Angel rule that you wear a mask to cover up your emotions at all times. Fletcher doesn’t go a day without her mask. 

Now that she thinks about it, the last time she let down her mask was when Elena and her managed to put together the first working prototype of the magnetized vest. The sheer happiness from finally making it work had caused Fletcher’s mask to slip— and she didn’t find herself minding at that moment in time. Maybe it’s because it takes a toll on Fletcher, or maybe she just finds herself to be comfortable around Elena. Elena’s got that happy spirit about her (when she’s not stressing over coding, that is). 

Fletcher blinks, looking back to the speaker. Not a good look to be unfocused during a briefing. 

“Bosley 342 will be accompanying you on this mission. Your objective is to find intel about this project and deliver it back to the headquarters. After that, you will remain on standby for further instruction. Am I understood, Angels?” 

“Yes, Charlie!” 

“Good.” Fletcher can almost hear the smile on Charlie’s face, wherever he is. “Then start packing. You leave for Edinburgh tonight.” 

_ Edinburgh _ . The name sounds like a ghost in Fletcher’s head, whispered into her ear. The last time Fletcher was in Edinburgh, basically her home town, was before she left permanently to come to the United States. Before… 

She doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Charlie signs off, and the red light on the speaker goes dark. 

“You heard the man. Get going. We leave at 2000,” Bos says, waving her hands, and all four of them stand up. As Fletcher steps out of the room, Elena follows her and steps in time, a smile on her face. 

“So, you’re on a team about to leave for your first mission since you came back. Are you excited?” Elena tilts her head to the side as she looks at Fletcher. Fletcher shrugs. 

“What with the whole ‘end of the world’ part hanging over my head, I’m more nervous,” Fletcher says, stringing her hands together as they turn the corner of the hallway, before stuffing them into the pockets of her pants. Elena hums, and Fletcher continues with a shrug, “And not to mention, I’m being added to a team of Angels that probably don’t need me.” 

“I get that. But, I did happen to read over your achievements last night, and I think that you’ll be a great addition to the team.” Elena bumps Fletcher’s shoulder lightly. 

“You really think so?” 

“Of course! You’ve taken down so many smuggling rings that I have no doubts that you’ll be excellent. Besides, we’re not that scary. You’ve already seen how ridiculous Sabina can be, and I  _ promise _ Jane isn’t like that all the time,” Elena says, putting heavy emphasis on ‘promise.’ “She’s just cautious.” 

“Might be the smartest thing in a place like this,” Fletcher admits a bit quietly. There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, and Fletcher stops in front of her door. “See you later?” 

“See you later, Fletch,” Elena replies, her ever cheery smile on her face, and she walks away. Fletcher can’t help but smile at the nickname before she pushes open the door to her room. 

When she closes it, she gets thinking. Jane likely resents her for one of two reasons. A) Fletcher tied up Sabina and muffled her, or B) Fletcher gave Jane some nasty bruises. The best way to apologize to someone is to obviously apologize, which Fletcher will do, don’t get her wrong. But… another way is Fletcher could get Jane a gift. 

So what would a badass, give-no-fucks-take-no-shit Angel want?

Fletcher thinks back to the tranquilizer rifle, and grins. She has an idea. 


	5. Chapter Four - angel gone home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> their first mission leads them to edinburgh, and needless to say, fletcher finds herself back in her groove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unbeta'd, all mistakes and errors are mine.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**_angel gone home_ **

When Fletcher sees the beginnings of her homeland through the window of the private jet, a low sigh escapes her mouth. How long has it been? A decade? Twelve years? Thirteen? Fletcher doesn’t bother to recall any specific time, because it brings back all too painful memories that have left deep scars on her mind. 

Regardless, it’s good to be back. The air holds the same dampness that Fletcher’s missed, and the Edinburgh headquarters are bare. Not so much evil activity happening in Scotland, eh? Fletcher smiles. At least her hometown’s been left mostly untainted. For that, she is happy. The old townhouse style buildings remain tall and ancient, covered with moss and vines that hug the cracks in the bricks. The cobblestone roads that would feel uneven to others feel perfectly level beneath Fletcher’s boots. 

There’s little time to dwell on the happenings of Scotland, because as soon as they get to the headquarters, they hit the ground running. Elena makes a beeline to the server room of the building, Sabina to the closet to ‘borrow’ more clothes, and Jane stalks off… somewhere. In all but a few seconds, Fletcher is left alone. Well, as alone as Fletcher can be when Bosley’s standing right next to her. 

“Good memories?” Bosley asks, and Fletcher sighs. Why is it that when somebody asks that, only the bad ones come to mind? There’s a bitter taste in the back of her mouth, almost like acid.

“Some of them,” Fletcher responds, shutting away those awful memories that come dredging up from the pits of her head. She moves to take a step forward, but Bosley’s hand on the muscle of her shoulder stops her in her tracks. 

“If you need a moment to pay your respects before the mission, I can arrange for that,” Bosley says, her voice pragmatic, but when Fletcher looks over her shoulder to meet the blonde’s eyes, she finds empathy in them. 

Fletcher swallows the lump in her throat before answering, “No, the mission comes first. That can be done later.” 

No room to argue, because Fletcher walks away to do her usual mission prep. The plan that Bosley devised is nothing short of ingenious. They’re striking Caduceus Industries, and if everything goes to plan, they won’t even know the Angel’s were there in the first place. Just how Fletcher likes it. 

Before she goes to the lab to get her stuff, she grabs the heavy briefcase she brought from the LA headquarters. Something she spent all night doing, really. Fletcher heads to the armory, hoping that her gut instinct leads her to the person she’s looking for. 

And sure enough, Jane is perusing the armory selections, a tight knit frown on her face as her eyes scan the guns mounted onto the wall. She’s looking for something— obviously, and what she’s searching for is likely in Fletcher’s hand. Fletcher knocks on the wall. 

Jane looks over at her, and her face turns neutral. Clinical, almost. Her hands go to her hips. “What do you want?” 

It’s abrasive, but Fletcher’s used to it. She steps forward, extending the briefcase out. “Your gun.” 

“Why do you have that?” 

Fletcher shrugs, still holding the case out. “I added a few things for you.” 

There’s skepticism in Jane’s eyes, but she takes it from Fletcher regardless. Their fingers touch for the briefest of seconds— their eyes following, and Fletcher finds herself staring into inky depths that so fiercely contrast her own light eyes. She finds herself feeling scrutinized under Jane’s heavy gaze. No wonder everyone is terrified of Jane— she’s all too threatening. Former MI6 agent turned Angel. Fletcher feels frozen, her mouth opening to say something, but it snaps shut seconds later. She’s got nothing to say. 

Fletcher pulls her hand back, as does Jane. 

“Anyway, uh, gotta go get ready for the mission,” Fletcher takes a few steps back, slapping her hands together. “See you later?” 

Jane nods, and Fletcher all but turns around and walks away. She can feel Jane’s eyes on her neck, and it feels warm. Warm? Why does it feel warm? Fletcher chalks it up the heating system. 

It’s only fifteen minutes later that they’re rolling, the first welcomings of the morning peeking through the horizon. Dawn. Perfect time to strike. Guards will be changing from night shift to day shift, and the quietness gives Fletcher a wide selection of traps and toys she can bring with her. None made with the intent to kill, of course. It’s Angel protocol to refrain from killing someone unless absolutely necessary, hence the knockout powder tucked into pockets on Fletcher’s vest, or the tranquilizer gun Jane so often uses.

Bosley is the escape route with the van, Sabina is going through the front with Elena, and so Jane is left as backup and Fletcher is breaking in through the roof of the building. Once Fletcher gets in and establishes a secondary escape route, she’ll be meeting with Elena to get the tech genius down to the server rooms, where they can then copy and lift the information they need. Or place a bug. Fletcher knows both are viable options in Elena’s eyes. And when they need to get out, Sabina will do her thing and make enough ruckus for them to extract safely. 

“Angels, check in,” Bosley instructs over the comms. 

“Alpha, in position,” Jane responds, pulling her rifle out of the case. 

“Bravo, in position!” Elena replies, chirpy and happy. Fletcher raises her binoculars to where she can see Elena and Sabina waiting near the front doors of Caduceus. It was easy enough for them to make fake IDs to get in. 

“Foxtrot, almost there,” Fletcher says, taking the zipline gun, new and improved thanks to someone named Langston. Elena talks about him sometimes. Seems like a good guy, in Fletcher’s opinion. Especially considering how smoothly the zipline gun operates. 

“Thank you for the gun,” Jane speaks, and it’s not through the comms. It’s just the two of them. Fletcher glances over from where she secures the end of the zipline to the side of the building. 

“Well, it was yours. I just… added a few things, that’s all,” Fletcher says, too aware of Jane looking at her again. She pulls the zipline grip from her belt. 

A pause permeates the air between them. 

“Think of it as an apology, you know, for having punched you a couple times,” Fletcher finishes, clipping the grip to the zipline. She tugs once, then leaps forward, soaring across the gaps in the roofs. Fletcher lands on the ground with a roll, and does a brief patdown of herself. She’s got a bulletproof vest on, pouches with her traps, and two stun guns, before saying, “Foxtrot, in position.” 

“Get moving then. We have twenty minutes until official opening, and 2 minutes left on the guard change,” Bosley commands. Fletcher walks toward the rooftop entrance, watching the red light turn green once she puts her hand on the door. 

_ Thank you, Elena, _ Fletcher thinks with a small grin, stepping in and walking down the stairwell before going into the first hallway. She’s got to meet Elena at the second elevator. 

She taps the button, then spares a glance each way down the hall. No one’s there, so she glances at her wrist, where a thin screen denotes her location. Elena and Sabina are moving at a steady pace toward her own location. The elevator dings, and then she steps in the elevator. The camera in the corner is scrubbed, repeating empty loops until people start coming in. 

The elevator dings a stop too early. 

“Shit!” Fletcher cusses. She jumps upward, grabbing the bars lining the ceiling of the elevator. She pulls herself flat to the ceiling, silencing her breathing as a man with an obvious gun sitting on his hip steps into the tall elevator. There’s a cheery whistle as he crosses his arms, the elevator continuing downward. Fletcher holds herself up with one arm, a hand drifting towards one of her stun guns. She has never been so grateful for her ability to breathe really, really,  _ really _ quietly. 

The elevator slows, and the guard steps out. Moments later, Elena steps in, and Fletcher sighs.

She drops down, her shoes barely making a noise as she hits the tile behind Elena. Fletcher taps Elena’s shoulder, and catches Elena’s wrist before it can hit her neck. 

“Were you here the whole time?” Elena asks, eyes wide as she pulls her arm away from Fletcher. Fletcher nods, then points to the ceiling. Elena hums, then turns her tablet to Fletcher. “Server room is down the hallway, but we have to bust through a door to get through, and the panel is on the other side. I studied the vents, and there’s a way through.” 

“Lets hope they keep their vents clean,” Fletcher says, a slight grin on her face. The elevator dips as they come to their final stop, and they step out side by side. 

“Advancing to target with Elena,” Fletcher says, carefully escorting Elena through the empty halls. The air down below the ground is colder, and if Fletcher were wearing a jacket, she’d give it to poor Elena, who doesn’t seem at all accustomed to the sudden cold and dampness of Edinburgh. 

“Keep us updated on your progress,” Bosley responds immediately. 

At that moment, Fletcher hears the tell tale sounds of boots scuffing lazily among the concrete. Gently, Fletcher pushes Elena against the wall before following suit, gently reaches into one of her pouches for what looks like a smaller version of an Epi-Pen, filled with a blue liquid that looks similar to that of the fluid used for tranq darts. Fletcher makes the universal sign of  _ stay quiet _ to Elena before glancing around the corner. She pulls back. 

She counts a breath, and then another. 

One more breath, and then she’s reaching around the corner, jabbing the needle into the neck of a solitary guard and pulling him to a sitting position against some nearby crates. 

“What is that?” Elena asks, pointing to the empty canister that Fletcher tucks back into the pouch. 

“Modified tranquilizer fluid that causes lapses in memory. Basically he’ll have no recollection of being knocked out, or what happened five minutes before. Also makes it look like his blood pressure spiked so much that he passed out on his own,” Fletcher replies, propping the guards body to make it seem more accidental. Fletcher wiggles her gloved fingers for emphasis, and Elena smiles. 

“You’re a genius. That isn’t standard Angel tranquilizer fluid.” 

“More like I’m way too much of a chemistry nerd and almost killed myself by accident testing this,” Fletcher whispers back. “Come on. We’re almost to the server room.” 

“Uh, guys? A truckload of guards just showed up,” Sabina’s voice, for the first time since this mission began, is heard. 

“How many?” Fletcher asks. 

Jane’s pipes in. “Five heavily armed, three moderately armed.” 

“C’mon, we gotta keep moving!” Fletcher whispers to Elena. They manage to make it through the hallways and to the door, where Fletcher then has to jump off a wall to get to the vent, shimmy through while not choking on dust, and then pry open the panel to plug in a usb to give Elena access. 

Only then does Fletcher look upon the dozens of server machines beeping and blinking away. Here, she’s entirely lost, and Elena takes charge. 

“Okay, we need to find CPU 12. It’s the one of the subsidiaries that has control of all the other units, and will likely have everything we need,” Elena explains. 

“Lead the way.” 

Bosley’s voice crackles in. “Go as fast as you can. Those guards are headed to the lower floors.” 

“I didn’t trigger any alarms, did you?” Elena asks Fletcher. Fletcher shakes her head. The only logical conclusion she can come up with is that somebody found the unconscious guard, but that’s impossible. It would’ve taken far longer than that for backup to have been called. 

“Update. I see the CEO walking in,” Jane informs.

“Must be her own personal platoon of guards, then. How rich do you have to be to think you need your own army to protect you?” Sabina laughs, and Fletcher can’t help but do the same. The concept is pretty ridiculous. Fletcher’s willing to bet this woman isn’t a well known name, either. Never in her life has Fletcher heard of Caduceus Industries until recently, though the name sounds odd in her head. 

“Sabina, keep an eye on them. Fletcher, Elena, keep focusing on the information. Jane, stay ready,” Bosley says. 

Elena leads the search as they move through the glowing server boxes. The room is frigid— a safeguard against overheating, Fletcher supposes. Fletcher spends too much time looking at the glowing machinery, apparently, because she nearly runs into Elena’s back as the other woman abruptly stops in the middle of the path. 

“Here. We found the CPU, extracting information now,” Elena says, pulling out a drawer in the CPU and producing a keyboard. The screen lights up, and she quickly types in a code to bypass the security measures and get straight to the nitty gritty of it. It’s a bunch of flashing numbers and mumbo jumbo that Fletcher barely understands. Hell, the only things Fletcher’s good at is making chemicals, bombs, and traps. This is way out of her league. 

It’s silent for a few minutes as Elena taps away at the keyboard with lightning efficiency, leaving Fletcher to do a brief sweep of the perimeter. 

By the time Fletcher comes back to Elena, there’s a loading bar that’s nearly halfway full, and it’s moving at a steady pace. 

Fletcher stands closely to Elena, looking over her shoulder, “How much did you find?” 

“I’m copying everything I can. Most of the files are encrypted, but I took the ones with the most security in them. Also, I’m dredging up financial reports to see if we can—” 

“Trace the buyer. Good thinking, Lena,” Fletcher says, and Elena grins widely. 

“Aw, they’re using nicknames! Fletchy is one of us!” Sabina cheers. There’s a sound of laughter, and it definitely wasn’t Sabina or Elena, and Fletcher can’t imagine Jane laughing. Like, ever. Jane has one emotion, and that is ‘stay the fuck away or I’ll murder you.’ Unless what Sabina said about Jane crying over her, then Fletcher can’t see Jane laughing. She pins it to Bosley, then. 

“Almost done…” Elena mutters quietly, eyes flicking over the screen.

“Might wanna hurry up! I just saw a  _ shitload _ of guards run like toddlers to the elevators,” Sabina pipes up. 

“Seems like they found the body,” Fletcher says. She goes to the edge of the row of machines, peeking out of either side. One end of the hall is empty, but the other one has the distant sounds of boots thudding against the ground. 

“Done!” Elena chimes, pulling the usb drive from the computer and turning to Fletcher. “What’s the plan?” 

“The only way out is through the elevators, and we want those guards out of here. Sabina, we could really use a distraction right now!” Fletcher calls out, glancing again down the hallway. 

“On it!” Sabina replies, and seconds later, there are vague monkey noises being made in the comms. 

Fair enough. It works. 

“Okay, now you’re going to stay hidden in here. There are ten guards down here, so when you see ten run past, you get out of here and to the elevators,” Fletcher says, reaching her hand behind her to pull up a hood and a mask. “Got it?” 

“What about you?” Elena asks, sliding her tablet into her bag. Fletcher grins, but it’s unseen, hidden beneath her mask. She pulls something tiny from a pouch on her vest, something like a marble. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. This is the stuff I’m good at,” Fletcher says, then winks. She walks out from the row of units casually. She throws the marble towards the wall, and it ignites with a loud  _ POP _ that effectively catches the attention of the guards. Fletcher waves to them, like she’s greeting an old friend. 

“There! Stop them!” The guard in front shouts, and then all make a beeline. Fletcher turns around and starts running as fast as she can. She knows they can’t shoot in such a confined space like this, and even if they’re used tasers, her vest and pants are insulated. 

She missed the adrenaline rush that came with this. Fletcher’s missed the danger. Sure, she’s always been a bit of a street rat; she learned how to utilize her surroundings to her advantage from a young age, ever since she arrived in America and running from the cops on a daily basis. 

Did you know that parkour is derived from an old French military tactic? Fletcher sure as hell didn’t know that until she met the Angels. 

She loops through the hallways, following the map on her wrist. When the guards meet her on either ends of the hallways, Fletcher pulls one of her favorite toys from her arsenal. The smoke bomb, of course. Fletcher throws it to the ground in front of the group, and the cannister snaps to let out a plume of smoke. It crowds the hall until Fletcher can’t see anything anymore, but she doesn’t have to see to know where she’s going. 

Shoving a guard out of the way leads to what appears to sound like a domino effect of more falling over. Fletcher breaks through the other end of smoke, and continues running with only a single cough. 

There’s commotion on the comms, but Fletcher’s a bit too busy running from a platoon of guards to pay attention. She vaults over a crate, executing a smooth roll onto the floor. She can see the elevator at the end of the hallway, the doors still open, and between them is Elena. 

“Keep them open for two more seconds!” Fletcher says, pumping her arms. Two seconds pass, and the doors begin to slide shut as Fletcher moves closer and closer. The shouts of guards behind her get more pronounced as more and more of them chase her. At the last second, Fletcher slips through the doors, hitting the back of the elevator with a sigh of relief. 

Fletcher leans against the wall, a smile on her face as she tugs down the mask. “That felt really good.”

“I was watching you on the cameras. Seemed like you were having quite the party with the smoke bombs,” Elena says, her tone quite jovial. 

“I was. Fun stuff, I’ll teach you the chemical formula.” 

“Enough chatter,” Bosley interjects sharply. “Got the information?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Elena replies quickly. “One drive full of it.”

“Good. Let’s focus on getting out of here before they call in the big guns,” Bosley continues. “Get off at the main floor. Sabina, reroute and pick up Elena and get out the back way. Jane, get down and meet me at the van to pick up the other two.” 

“And me?” Fletcher pushes herself off the wall, cracking her knuckles. 

“Got anything to put the guards off our tail?” 

“Oh, I sure as hell do. Meet you all back at the headquarters. I’ll catch up,” Fletcher says, the unmistakable grin of a prankster gracing her lips. The elevator dings as they reach the main floor, and before Elena can even say goodbye, Fletcher’s bolting out of the elevator and dashing through the halls. Fletcher has a feeling the guards are on high lookout for just her, so it;s simply a matter of creating enough attention on herself for the others to get out safely. 

Jane’s been eerily silent for most of the mission, but Fletcher chalks it up to her being backup. There, in all simplicity, isn’t a place for a former MI6 agent in a stealth mission. But then again, Fletcher is the one throwing her signature ‘pop rocks’— the little marbles that make a shit ton of noise— everywhere she can get it. 

It causes some screaming here and there, and before she knows it, she has a few portly security guards huffing and puffing as they chase her. The heavy cavalry are still down in the server room, or in the elevator by now. She’s got time. And what happens when you give a girl full of tricks and traps too much time?

She gets creative, that’s what. 

It only takes a few seconds for Fletcher to hop the tills in front of the doors, and jump onto a motorbike. Hotwiring it is too easy, and she leaves a nice present for the guards before she pulls out onto the roads. And by nice present, Fletcher means she left a booby trap that’ll disorientate the guards for a solid thirty seconds before they get their shit together. Flashbangs are truly a blessing sometimes.

She zooms through the streets, glancing at the map to catch up with the black van that contains her teammates. Fletcher glances over her shoulder at the sound of sirens. 

“Y’all see that, right?” Fletcher asks, cruising beside the van. She sees Bosley and Elena through the front window. 

“Is that the SWAT?” Elena says, suddenly looking very stressed. 

“The Scottish version of it, anyway!” Sabina chimes in. 

Fletcher knows Edinburgh. This is her hometown. Fletcher taps a route into her wrist, and it pops up onto the other Angel’s tablets. 

“There’s train tracks on Slateford! Train comes at seven AM, we can beat it there and cut off the cops!” Fletcher calls out. 

Bosley somehow manages to go faster in the van, while Fletcher pulls behind the van. She throws one of her trusty Klaus-made EMP’s behind her, and in the small mirrors of the bike, watching the first police car stall and pull to the side. One less to worry about. 

The railroad crossing is ahead, and the lights begin to blink red. The arms begin to move down, and she knows that the van will be able to make it across, but not herself. She scans her surroundings for any way out— and spots the bed of a truck with a ramp going down it. Now, Fletcher’s never been good at math, but if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s taking a risk. She veers to the left, pressing herself closer to the bike as it goes up the ramp and—

Now she’s flying over the train. Fletcher’s fucking  _ flying _ over the fucking train and a joyous whoop comes from her mouth as she lands on the other side, the suspension of the motorcycle barely soaking up all of the impact. Fletcher glances behind her, and sees the cops blocked as the freight train rumbles on by. 

“Fuck yeah! That was fucking awesome!” Sabina calls out, and Fletcher’s got the widest damn smile on her face. 

“Good job, ladies. Back to the headquarters. We’ve got all we needed, and I’d call that a minor success,” Bosley says, and in Bosley terms, minor success usually means ‘you did a great fucking job and you should be proud,’ and god damn, Fletcher is proud of herself. First mission back in the game, and she did well. 

The rest of the day, she’s smiling. 


	6. Chapter Five - angel not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fletcher thinks about where she fits into all of this. The gang have a riveting discussion about tacos in the meanwhile. Jane remains cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> partly beta'd by myself, but i doubt i got all of the mistakes. thank you for reading!

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**_angel not alone_ **

It’s quiet in the armory, the first lights of the morning seeping softly though the windows and shining on the array of weapons that Fletcher has become so familiar with. Stun guns, tasers, the poison lipstick (that she’s never worn but has an immunity to, of course), and the tranq mints, as always. Fletcher’s always been happy about the Angel protocol of having lethal but not fatal weapons. Weapons that could knock a man out, but not kill them. It’s not their job to kill men, it’s their job to subdue them. Hasn’t that always been what a woman has to do in order to survive?

Most of the guns are non fatal, anyway. When worst comes to worst, Fletcher knows her way around a rifle and a pistol. Those types of weapons are on the other wall. Knowing her team the way she does now, she’d gander to say that Jane spends most of her time there. 

Fletcher looms over some of her own personal booby traps. She’s spent the morning rewiring some of the EMP’s to decrease their radius and deliver a greater shock to a more condensed area. Good for blowing technology up, and stopping a car engine if needed. 

She glances to the bomb case loaded with every type of bomb imaginable, and chuckles. If anyone had told tiny Fletcher Klaus that she would love blowing stuff up in the future, she’d believe them. She’s always had a penchant for making things go _ boom _ — just ask her science teacher in her high school. 

(It’s unfortunately lead to more than one case of suspension for accidentally setting fire to dangerous chemicals in laboratories.)

Fletcher sighs quietly, stretching out her fingers. Being back in Edinburgh has brought strange feelings up. She’s glad to be back in her element— San Francisco could never truly compare to Scotland— but on the other hand, this place feels too quiet. It was never quiet when Fletcher lived here. Then again, she was louder as a kid. Louder than she is now, she supposes. 

Fletcher may or may not have stayed up last night with Sabina to watch some episodes of the Great British Bake Off, but it was all too worth it to hear Sabina mimic the contestants with such an awful accent that caused Fletcher to wonder if Sabina had even taken any language inflection classes during training. 

“Busy?” 

The sudden intrusion in Fletcher’s quiet space causes her to jump— yes, she shouldn’t have been slacking off and should’ve heard Jane coming, but she’s at the headquarters. There’s no reason for Fletcher to be on her guard all the time now. 

Fletcher looks over her shoulder. Jane’s standing there— arms crossed, stoic face, which Fletcher has come to recognize to be something normal. Though, according to Sabina’s accounts (while they both ate sweet potato fries), Jane’s more expressive once trust is established. And yet, how is Fletcher supposed to create trust between the two of them when she gave Jane a few punches to the face? 

Yes, Sabina’s forgiven Fletcher for the whole ‘tying her up on a chair’ incident, but Jane is far, far different from Sabina. 

“No, not really, why?” Fletcher says, pushing her traps aside and leaning on the metal table. 

Jane steps further into the armory. “I wanted to ask about the gun. How you managed to stabilize it even more than it already was.”

“Oh!” Fletcher blinks. She certainly did not expect Jane to ask anything like that. She almost forgets to respond. “Well, the casing of the darts are made of nickel— resistant to corrosion so the tranq fluid doesn’t go bad. Nickel’s magnetic, so I put magnets along the barrel of the gun so by the time the dart is launched, it’s nearly straight. There’s room for improvement, of course, and I can always make it better—”

Fletcher realizes she’s been rambling for far too long, and her mouth snaps shut. She rubs the back of her neck with her hand, glancing away. 

“That’s impressive.” 

Fletcher flushes, eyes diverting right to Jane with the ghost of a smile on her lips. “You— you really think so?” 

“Well,” Jane shrugs her shoulders carelessly, “I tested it an hour ago in the shooting range. Didn’t even have to adjust my rifle upward in order to hit the bullseye.” 

“That’s good,” Fletcher responds, because that’s really the only thing she can say when she’s staring at Jane, who’s dressed in black cargo pants, boots, and a black knit crop top that shows off her arms. Okay, yeah, Fletcher’s a useless queer like Sabina, but this is just ridiculous! Fletcher swallows, stepping forward with an earnest smile, “If there’s anything I can do to improve it, let me know.” 

And just like that, Jane’s taking a step back. She’s eyeing Fletcher. Still, after days of being in the same space, Fletcher feels like she’s in a glass box when it comes to Jane. She can’t see out of it, and yet, Jane can see in. Maybe it’s because Fletcher’s always worn her heart on her sleeve— her past with John Bosley is proof enough of that— and Jane’s just another example of that. 

So she retreats too. 

Thank the heavens, because Elena appears in the armory, wearing a comfy jumper and leggings. “I made tea! Does anybody want some?”

“Yes, please!” Fletcher replies, taking what feels like the coward’s way out in opening up to Jane. 

“I’ll have some,” Jane says, uncrossing her arms and walking out of the armory. Elena glances at Fletcher with an apologetic face. 

“I’m sorry, I know she takes a while to be less… militant, but she’s just focused. That’s how she’s always been,” Elena explains, hands fiddling together. 

Fletcher waves her hand. “I get it. I used to be like that.” 

“I don’t have a hard time believing that, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. C’mon. Sabina’s hoarding the coffeemaker in the kitchen, and that’s a sight to see.” 

Elena’s right. By the time they got out of the armory, Sabina’s made a steaming pot of coffee, pours one cup for herself, then sits on the counter and crosses her legs. Much like Elena, Sabina’s wearing a sweater, and her hair’s damp from being freshly washed. It’s a wonder she’s up this early. Fletcher guesses that that is what the coffee it for. 

“Here,” Elena says, extending a mug of piping hot water to Fletcher. Fletcher takes it, giving Elena a grateful grin before opening up the tea cabinet in search for the perfect tea to energize her today. 

Except the one Fletcher likes most is on the top shelf. Fletcher isn’t tall like Jane, by any means, but these cabinets seem to be designed for giants. Fletcher smacks her lips together, and begins to reach upward. 

Only for the tall amazonian woman that is Jane to reach up and grab the box for her. Jane holds it out to Fletcher with an expectant look on her face. For once, Jane’s hair isn’t up in a ponytail, or in a bun, and it’s simply down. Fletcher is momentarily starstruck by Jane, and it’s only a fraction of a second later that she realizes she’s been staring. Regardless, Fletcher takes the box with a quiet ‘thanks’. 

“So, deep thinking time,” Sabina says as Fletcher takes a seat at the nearby couch (like a normal person) and takes the first sip of her warm tea. Sabina downs a gulp of her coffee in seconds, blissfully unaware of how hot it is. “When you eat a taco, do you tilt your head, or do you tilt the taco?” 

“I—” Fletcher pauses, suddenly overthinking far too much. “I tilt my head? And the taco? Both?” 

“If you tilt the taco all the way, all the stuff just falls out. And if you tilt your head all the way, you just give yourself cramps,” Elena adds from where she sits on the plush couch beside Fletcher. They clink their mugs together with satisfied smiles, and Sabina just pouts from the counter. 

“You guys didn’t answer my question! This is even worse than when Fletchy and I were arguing about tartan and plaid!” Sabina complains, flinging her blonde hair. She squints her eyes and points at Fletcher. “You’re wearing tartan.” 

“No… this is actually plaid,” Fletcher replies, brow raised with amusement. She tugs on the fabric of her plaid flannel shirt with a childish grin. Sabina’s jaw drops in offense. 

“Are you kidding?!” Sabina throws her hands up like she’s done with the world, and Fletcher starts snickering. Elena joins in, and Jane even cracks a small smile, something that Fletcher takes particular notice to. There’s a crinkle at the corner of Jane’s lips as she smiles, and Fletcher has to bury herself into her tea in order to take her eyes off of the ex-MI6 agent. 

“How’s the decrypting going?” Fletcher looks to Elena, switching the topic of the conversation easily. 

“I have bots scrubbing the files. Nothing majorly important yet, but the encryptions are serious. Whatever Caduceus is doing, they want it to keep it a huge secret,” Elena answers, scratching her head. 

“Are we taking bets? Oh! I bet they have, like, a miracle drug that cures cancer and they’re withholding it because they’re greedy bastards,” Sabina says, snapping her fingers. Fletcher’s brows shoot up her forehead. 

“It’s always big pharma,” Fletcher mutters. 

“Amen.” Sabina raises her mug, and so does Fletcher. 

“You guys sound so distinctly American it’s scary,” Elena remarks, and Fletcher laughs. 

“Oh, I could turn off the American accent and start talking like I normally do,” Fletcher says, and Elena tilts her head to the side. Fletcher cracks her knuckles. “ _ This is what I normally sound like.”  _

Sabina blinks once. The American accent in Fletcher’s voice has been completed wiped out, and Fletcher launches into a rant about taxes in Scotland. Even Jane keens forward to hear Fletcher, and Elena just sighs, like she’s given up. 

“So yeah, that’s why I speak with an American accent, even though they sound like the stale air inside chip bags,” Fletcher concludes with a sip of her tea. 

“I understood… zero percent of that,” Sabina says, and then they’re all laughing. Elena’s laughing with Fletcher, Sabina sounds like a hyena in the best way possible, and Jane’s laughing too. 

“What can I tell ya? Scots have their own language, even if it is English,” Fletcher reclines into the back of the couch. 

“Guys! I have the best idea!” Sabina shouts, gathering everyone’s attention. 

“Translation, she has the  _ worst _ idea,” Elena corrects, and Jane snorts. 

“Shut up. We’re in Scotland, and this is, like, beer central,” Sabina says. 

“No, that’s Germany,” retorts Fletcher, cupping her fingers around the warmth of the mug. 

“Whatever. Still, we gotta go out. Elena’s decryption-thingy-mabob is going to take  _ forever _ , so we might as well go out and have a bit of fun, right? We’re in fucking Scotland!” Sabina raises her cup, as if she’s toasting. 

“Sabina, it’s not even nine AM yet,” Jane reasons. She even looks tired at the thought of going out. 

“You never do day drinking, shush, Janey. But what about the rest of you, huh? We go out, dressed like the bunch of queers we are, and be gay in Scotland.” Sabina opens her arms up, wiggling her brows aggressively. Fletcher is suddenly hit with the mental image of Sabina wearing a rainbow kilt.

“I’ll pass. I don’t drink,” Fletcher says, downing the rest of her tea and then leaning forward to place the now empty mug onto the coffee table. 

Jane meets her eyes. “Why not?” 

Fletcher considers how much to say, then sighs. “Long story short, my dad was an alcoholic. Because of that, I never drank much, but one night, I drank so much I blacked out and almost had to get my stomach pumped. So, now I don’t drink.” 

“Oh, shit.” Sabina blinks. She clicks her tongue. “My mom had chronic drinking problems. I can relate.” 

Fletcher nods, and when she looks at Sabina, she feels a new understanding between them. Sabina smiles reassuringly at Fletcher, and Fletcher does the same. 

It feels natural to be in here, chatting with her fellow Angels. It almost feels… normal. Like she’s back at headquarters, talking to whoever would listen to her ramble on about geeky shit. They never really  _ listened _ to Fletcher, though. 

Here, Fletcher feels like she’s been listened to. And somehow, that’s more important than anything in the world. 

She glances around the room. She feels hopeful when she looks at Sabina and Elena, and even Jane, who’s been nothing but ice towards her. But, Fletcher’s a redhead. Fire melts ice eventually. Yes, strange correlation, but it works, doesn’t it?

Even Bosley’s a nice person. Fletcher’s heard all about the whole ‘betrayal debacle’ in which Jane and Sabina believed Bosley to be the traitor, but when in reality, it was John Bosley planning the coup all along. Fletcher still thinks about the story from time to time. How the hell did Jane impale an assassin on a spike of ice? How did Sabina manage to be a chaotic mess and a put together Angel at the same time?

All these questions, and yet, Fletcher wants to know the answers. That much is a surprise, even to herself. Fletcher’s always worked alone, or as alone as she can possibly get. Might be why some people call her the Red Ghost (an awful nickname due the red hair). She’d rather  _ not _ talk about how she got the nickname in the first place. 

(Fletcher infiltrated a high security mansion, drugged two men, knocked out another two, stole documents worth millions, and then left without being seen, all in three hours. Her co-workers in San Francisco deemed that enough to give her a shitty nickname. Could be worse). 

She finds herself curious about this group of women, all seemingly different— but all they all fit each other like puzzle pieces, snug and tight. That brings the question to  _ where does Fletcher belong in all this? _

Fletcher, even after the first mission, still doubts that they actually need her there at all. Jane could’ve easily taken Fletcher’s place instead of serving as backup. There would’ve been less smoke bombs and more tranq darts, but still, it would’ve worked all the same. 

“Fletchy!” 

She snaps out of her reverie, glancing to Sabina, who has moved from her perch on the counter to the back of the couch. Fletcher has to crane her neck all the way back into Sabina’s lap, which she doesn’t mind doing, actually. Elena and Jane have disappeared, likely off doing their own things, leaving Fletcher and Sabina remaining. 

“Are there any castles near here? I really want to pretend to be an old maid searching for her lost destiny on the horizon,” Sabina says, that ever present ire of mischief in her forest colored eyes. Fletcher laughs. 

“There are at least ten castles in this entire city, dude. Are you serious?” 

“Dead serious, Fletchy-Fletch. Let’s go get the kilts and go to castles!” Sabina says, grooming her shortly trimmed nails through Fletcher’s hair. 

“You—” Fletcher has to hold back her laughter. “You  _ do _ know we don’t actually wear kilts here, right?” 

“False. I refuse to believe that until I get evidence, which we’ll get at a castle! C’mon!” Sabina begs, puppy eyes shining brightly. Fletcher groans.

“Oh my god,  _ fine. _ There’s a castle nearby here. Not really a castle, more of a watchtower, but close enough,” Fletcher says, standing up. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have bagpipes, would you?” 

“No!” Fletcher retorts. “But you can find a dude with them on the corner of every street. Give him a buck, and he’ll play the National Anthem.” 

“We’re doing that!” 

“No, we’re not!” 


	7. Chapter Six - angel with the open heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suffering is a subjective term. fletcher's done too much of it, jane thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by myself. thanks for reading guys!

**CHAPTER SIX**

**_angel with the open heart_ **

In any case, what Jane’s doing might be a bit more enjoyable than what her original plans were for today. At least here she has the weight of her rifle in her hand and the cool sea breeze— which is causing her hair to curl at the neck, annoyingly so— to accompany her on this recon mission. 

And Fletcher too, but the Angel has been quiet ever since they got set up at their respective locations. 

The information Elena managed to get (and make sense of) indicated the location of a testing facility on the outskirts of Scotland. More specifically, the grassy hills of Kearvaig. Jane has to admit, the landscape is absolutely gorgeous, but it’s so quiet. Minus the few herds of sheep that are grazing nearby, but they don’t bother Jane. They don’t appear to bother Fletcher either, if her silence is any explanation. 

So, for the time being, Jane’s hunkered down in her position in the windows of an abandoned, aged watchtower. There’s moss growing between the bricks, and the wood is rotting away, but it’s sturdy and has lasted against the test of time. That thought is comforting, at the least. She’s tempted to ask Fletcher— who likely has an endless well of knowledge about these very castles— about how they were made, but she silences herself before she does. That’s not the point of the mission. 

Jane rolls her shoulders back, observing the small facility she has eyes on. Relative to Scotland, the facility is large, three stories, and made with the intent of looking like a modern bunker. She looks through the scope, and begins to make notes about the guard movements. They stand out clear as day— clad in blue and white, and bearing standard issue AR-15’s. Jane pulls away from the scope of her rifle to jot it down in her notebook for later. 

She moves the scope over the vicinity of the testing facility. 

“Looks serious,” Fletcher remarks, and Jane hums. “Any guesses?” 

Jane doesn’t respond. She tried to get Bosley to let her go on this mission herself— it’s recon, Jane could do that in her sleep. However, Bosley insisted that Fletcher go with her. The buddy system. 

“Developmental weapons. Miracle cures. We can’t see anything from out here,” Jane responds, her hand moving across her notepad as she tallies another guard. 

Fletcher hums. 

She’s all the way across the way on another ridge, on the ground with a pair of binoculars, but she’s not unarmed. The two of them spent a few minutes in the armory in relatively comfortable silence as they prepped for the mission. Jane had taken that opportunity to see what Fletcher picked. A long rang stun gun, or as they’re more widely known in the Agency, ‘stun rifles,’ and a few traps. 

“What can you see?” Jane deigns to ask. 

“Nothing much. The building’s entirely enclosed. All of the hallways are on the outside of the building, which leads me to think that the core of the building is where all of the good shit is,” Fletcher says. There’s the distant sound of a sheep ba-ing, and then Fletcher laughing. “Sorry, sorry, sheep are really funny.” 

The corner of Jane’s lip curls up, and looks through the scope at Fletcher. Fletcher’s laying on her back, and there’s a single sheep next to her. Fletcher has her hand on the sheep’s head, patting it gently. 

“Are you petting the sheep?” Jane asks, and in seconds, Fletcher is snapping back into her original position. 

“No,” Fletcher clears her throat. “Absolutely not.”   
Jane chuckles, and shakes her head. On a scale of Sabina to Elena, Fletcher is the middle woman. The perfect blend of insanity and levelheadness, from what Jane’s seen. Last she heard, Fletcher had taken Sabina out to the castles in Edinburgh, and then after that, spent an hour shooting bullets at a prototype of a vest. Good for her, Jane thinks. 

It’s such a change from when Jane first met Fletcher. The first time Jane had set eyes on Fletcher, it had been pure aggression. Fletcher was the Angel that went rogue, that betrayed the Agency. Then, Jane learned, it was far more complicated than that. Fletcher left because she  _ scared _ , but she came back, and in Jane’s opinion, that’s the definition of strength. Coming back the Agency that had once blackmailed her into submission… Fletcher’s stronger than she looks. 

She thinks about the gravestone that Fletcher had paid her respects to back in San Francisco. Kurt Klaus. Jane hadn’t been able to see the date, but managed to catch the name before everything happened, and still, Jane wonders about it. Brother? The alcoholic father that Fletcher mentioned some days ago? A child? 

Best way to get answers is to ask questions. 

“Who’s Kurt?” 

Silence. Pure silence. It’s uncomfortable. 

“What’s it to you?” Fletcher’s voice sounds pained. 

“Nothing. I merely remembered the name on the grave at the cemetery.”

Jane dares to look back at Fletcher through the scope of the very rifle that Fletcher modified. 

Fletcher’s binoculars are down, and she’s picking grass blades from the ground and folding them in her fingers. Her face is obstructed by the hood, but Jane sees enough of a frown. 

“Kurt was my brother. That day you found me was his birthday. He would’ve been twenty one years old— legal in the United States,” Fletcher begins, and her voice is soft, almost timid. There’s some sounds of rustling, like she’s shifting around on the ground. 

Jane goes quiet. 

“I guess for you to really understand how he died, I have to get into the nitty gritty of it all,” Fletcher remarks, followed by a gentle sigh. 

Does Jane respond? Does she let Fletcher continue? On one hand, she wants to know more about Fletcher— her file’s data is limited, and Jane would prefer to know more about her teammate, but on the other hand, this just seems plain invasive. Neither of them can back out of this situation, because they’re on a mission. 

“I was born here, you know? A little ways out from Edinburgh, in a town named Dalkeith. Not a big place compared to San Francisco, but it was home. My mom stayed at home to watch over my brother and I, and my dad worked in Edinburgh as a lab scientist before he was fired for gross misconduct,” Fletcher explains. “Never knew which lab he worked for— likely a tiny one, he wasn’t paid much. When he got fired… that’s when it all started.” 

Jane recalls to a few days ago. “The drinking?” 

“Bingo,” Fletcher says. “Pa started staying out later and later, and he came home smelling like whiskey and beer more times than I can count. Ma had to get a job just so the family could stay afloat, but eventually, Pa spent more money on liquor than my Ma could make.” 

A pause. 

“So Ma got two jobs. I started taking care of Pa. Ma was coming home last night, and got hit by a drunk driver on the fuckin’ roads.” Fletcher’s voice is bitter. So bitter, that Jane can taste it on her tongue. “Ma passed, and it made everything ten times worse. Pa couldn’t get his fuckin’ act together, kept drinking himself into debt, and I couldn’t let my brother suffer through that. So, I did the best thing I could, and managed to stow us away on a plane headed to America.” 

“How’d you manage to do that?” Jane asks, and Fletcher laughs. 

“Honestly, I don’t fuckin’ know. Either the people at the airport saw and pitied us, or they didn’t see us at all.” 

Jane watches through her scope as Fletcher reaches into her shirt, pulling out a silver ring tied around a cord. Fletcher’s thumb rubs on it for a few seconds, and then she tucks it back into her shirt. Then Fletcher is raising her binoculars, and Jane diverts back to the facility, momentarily focusing on that. 

“Got to America in San Francisco, and became a runaway on the streets with Kurt. We managed to survive for a year or so on our own, going from street to street, rummaging through dumpsters for leftovers. Then we got sick.” 

There’s a sinking feeling in the bottom of Jane’s stomach. 

“Worst thing I ever experienced in my life. I was unconscious for… two days? That, or I was hallucinating so much that it didn’t matter. Either way, I still woke up to my brother coughing his lungs out onto the concrete, and hours later… he gave out. It was too much for him. The sickness. It was a bacteria that neither of us were used to, and he always had a weaker immune system…” Fletcher trails off. 

Jane can put together the rest of the story in seconds. Her grip becomes tighter on the rifle as her mind processes everything Fletcher just told her in the past few minutes. Not to mention, Fletcher told  _ Jane _ all of this. Jane, who has been so cold towards Fletcher for reasons that now sound so stupid in Jane’s head. 

She convinced herself that she was looking out for Elena and Sabina, being cautious around Fletcher because Fletcher was the Angel that went rogue. The one who did the one thing Jane would never do— betray her own agency. But… Fletcher didn’t do that, did she? She didn’t have much of a choice; either stay under John Bosley’s metaphorical chokehold, or go into hiding. 

Jane adjusts her rifle in her arms. This rifle she’s holding was made by Saint, but improved by Fletcher. More detailed scope with thermal detection, smoother grip, stronger frame, and an extension to the barrel that can detach. Jane considered adding those things herself, but there’s no way she would’ve done nearly as good a job as Fletcher did. Jane’s knowledgeable in how to use guns— not how to improve them. 

Fletcher ran, but she did it because she wanted to get away from the evil poisoning the Townsend Agency. Jane can respect that. 

Too many good men and women fell to John Bosley, and the Agency is still cleaning up the remnants of his coup. Fletcher wasn’t the only Angel to fall to his traps— just the best one, in any case. Angels and Bosleys alike. 

Edgar crosses Jane’s mind. She can still see the shock on Edgar’s face as he saw his own blood on his finger, and she can still feel the pain in her heart from losing her Bosley from executing the j-turn— a j-turn that Jane wanted to do. If Jane hadn’t told Edgar to do that… then would he still be here? Jane thinks about it often. 

“I had a Bosley. His name was Edgar, the one who trained me,” Jane speaks, leaning her head against the stone. Her lips purse together in the effort to not let those awful thoughts surface. She has to remember the good ones. “He died when we were chasing Calisto.” 

“Oh.” A pause, and Jane looks across the grassy ridges. She can see the black speckle of Fletcher laying flat against the grass. “I never met him. But he must’ve been a good man to make an Angel as good as you are, Jane.” 

“He was better than good. He was great,” Jane retorts, a bit sharply. There’s no response, and some tendrils of guilt weave around Jane’s heart. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” 

“It’s okay. I understand that pain. The kind where your heart feels so rancid because you thought you could’ve done something to save them, right?” 

And in that moment, something clicks in Jane’s chest. 

Understanding. 

“Was Kurt a good brother?” 

“Was Edgar a good Bosley?” 

Jane laughs for the first time in a while. “Touche.” 

“Kurt was the best. I think he’d like you, even if you are a bit rough around the edges.” 

“Really?” Jane crooks a brow. 

“Really. He’d probably say something corny, like how you’re the diamond in the rough.” A pause, and Jane looks at Fletcher through the scope. She’s grinning, widely, a smile of remembrance. “I’d say he’s right.” 

Jane frowns, but she doesn’t find that usual disgust in her chest whenever she receives a compliment. Elena always says that Jane’s awful at taking compliments. She says, “You barely know me, Fletcher.” 

“Do I need to? I know you’d give your life for Elena and Sabina in a heartbeat. They’d probably give theirs first, though,” Fletcher responds quickly. Jane can’t help but think that Fletcher’s not saying something, but she doesn’t push. 

“I would do anything for them,” Jane decides to say instead, and Fletcher snorts. 

“I used to think that I would give everything to have the kind of team you and Elena and Sabina have, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t really deserve one.” A laugh of self-resentment, almost. “Who would trust the Angel who went rogue, right?” 

_ I’d trust you, _ Jane almost says, but she bites her tongue. Then, Jane blinks. Why  _ did _ she almost say that? 

Fletcher goes silent, and Jane has nothing else to say. Jane shifts the grip of the rifle in her hand, looking through the scope. As she counts the guards visible, she thinks about how Fletcher had laid out her entire past to Jane on a silver platter, with almost no hesitation. 

Perhaps Jane was wrong about Fletcher. 

No. She  _ knows _ she was wrong about Fletcher. 

Jane sighs, and leans forward, immersing herself into her work and pushing everything else behind, though the one thing she can’t push out of her mind is Fletcher’s eyes. 

~~~~~

Fletcher leans over the pool table, her eyes carefully gauging the depth of the table, before she pulls the cue stick back and jerks it forward. With amusement and a smile at her lips, Fletcher watches as the black eight ball slips into her chosen pocket, and with that, Fletcher wins. 

“Bullshit! That’s voodoo!” Sabina says, pointing to me with an accusatory finger. Fletcher rolls her eyes, and pokes Sabina with the tip of her cue stick, leaving a black chalk mark on Sabina’s. 

“You mean witch magic. Voodoo is entirely different, Bean,” Elena comments from where she sits on a nearby bench, using Sabina’s nickname with some lovingness behind it, and Fletcher smiles. Sabina pouts, disappointed with her loss, and slinks over to Elena to flop unceremoniously into her lap. 

Fletcher walks around the perimeter of the table, plucking the balls from the pouches and rolling them back onto the table. “So, I’ve beaten Elena and Sabina. Want to try, Bos?” 

Bos has only just come in from the kitchen, holding some tumblrs of whiskey and handing them out. Mainly to everyone but Fletcher, which she doesn’t mind. Bos glances at the racked balls Fletcher has laid out with the triangle, and shakes her head. “Pass.” 

“Aw, boo! No fun!” Sabina jeers, raising her glass before knocking most of it back. Then, Sabina points to Jane. “Your turn!” 

“What?” Jane responds, looking up from her notebook the first time all night. Fletcher turns to her, and motions to the table with a hopeful smile on her face. Jane glances to the table for a split second, then shakes her head the same way Bos did. “No, I’m good.” 

Sabina groans again, and it causes Elena to start snickering and lean into the shoulder of her… friend? Girlfriend? Fletcher makes a note to ask either of them about that later. 

“Oh well,” Fletcher says coyly, shrugging her shoulders, tracing one black painted nail against the wood of the pool table. “Guess I’ll just crown myself the unbeaten queen of pool, then.” 

Jane’s eyes narrow, and Fletcher raises a manicured brow back in challenge. Jane’s notebook snaps shut, and she drops it onto the table. She rises from her chair. “You’re on, Klaus. Get me a stick.” 

“Yeeeeees!” Sabina lets out a long whoop, and even Elena cheers as Fletcher grabs a cue stick from the wall and tosses it to Jane. 

“You have first shot, Kano,” Fletcher goads, sweeping her arm over the table. Jane rubs the chalk over the tip, then leans over the table. There’s a brief moment of silence as Jane draws the stick back, and slams it forward. Elena lets out a whistle as the balls scatter, and a few land in some pockets. Jane shoots again, and claims the solids. 

“Oh, this is riveting,” Bosley remarks, reclining on the chaise lounge she sits on, glasses scanning over the screen of her laptop. 

“Guys, you realize this is every queer girls dream, right? Watching two hot women duke it out on the pool table?” Sabina leans forward, making a gesture between Jane and Fletcher. Sabina looks to Elena. “Babe, back me up. Did any shit like this happen at MIT?” 

Elena nods sagely. “Many a time I’ve seen duels happen at the pool table.” 

“See? I’m always right,” Sabina says, making a peace sign, then sipping her drink.

“You thought the Republic of Ireland was a part of the United Kingdom,” Fletcher comments as she sinks a striped ball into a pouch. Jane hums at her, acknowledging the good shot, and Fletcher’s heart swells with a little pride. 

“No, I said I thought Ireland was a part of the United Kingdom. I didn’t say  _ which _ Ireland,” Sabina refutes easily, obviously in the mood to argue, and Fletcher gives her that, until Sabina says, “How was I supposed to know there’s two Ireland’s?” 

“Did you not take basic geography?” Jane asks, tilting her head to the side. 

“No, I did, but I didn’t bother listening. It was so boring, my teacher would not shut up about how amazing Russia is and how we should all convert to communism,” Sabina says, sinking back into Elena’s lap. Elena’s eyes widen, and then it deflates. Fletcher takes a wild guess that all of them are used to Sabina’s stories by now. Hell, Fletcher’s gotten used to all of the extremely offhand comments Sabina will say from time to time. 

“Capitalism feeds off of corporate greed, my dears,” Bosley says with an edge of wiseness in her voice that makes Fletcher wonder if Bosley’s  _ seen _ shit. 

The clink of pool balls hitting each other draws Fletcher’s attention back to the table, where Jane has sunk another ball, but at the cost of getting the cue ball into a pocket too. With her turn in hand, Fletcher positions the ball right where she wants it, and executes a smooth off-the-wall hit, and takes another striped ball off the table. 

“So, what happens now?” Elena asks, looking to Bosley. 

“Last I heard, Charlie’s reviewing the information, and then he’ll authorize a strike against the testing facility if needed. So for now, we wait,” Bosley responds, swirling her ice cube around in the glass before taking a hearty sip. 

“Damn, the big man himself,” Sabina says. She raises her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” 

“You’ll drink to anything,” Fletcher says, the beginnings of laughter at the back of her throat. 

“Look, life is worth celebrating, homie. You choose to do it by building bombs, I choose to do it by slinging back shots like Mariah Carey before she sang on New Years Eve,” Sabina responds, raising her hands as if saying she’s not guilty. Fletcher weighs Sabina’s words, then chuckles. She can’t argue with the blonde’s logic. 

The room settles into a comfortable silence as Bosley streams some soft beats into the speakers. The game goes on, and Fletcher finds herself a fierce opponent in Jane, who’s relentless in blocking any shot Fletcher can possibly have. She has to admit, Jane’s tough. Playing Sabina was easy— Sabina’s all jerky movements, more showy than calculated choices. Elena fared a bit better, but didn’t stand a chance against Fletcher’s moves. Jane, however, is putting up a fight. She’s matching Fletcher, and Fletcher  _ likes  _ it. 

What can Fletcher say? She’s always had a weakness for women who know their way around a pool table. But when she looks at Jane, it’s not so much of a weakness. More like an admiration, really. Jane’s talented, Fletcher has to admit that. And Fletcher’s seen past Jane’s layers, just a little. Jane telling Fletcher about Edgar was a huge step, according to Elena. 

Edgar isn’t spoken about much, if what Elena said was the truth. In that case, Fletcher feels honored to know about it. Or maybe Jane just felt obligated to say something. After all, Fletcher did give her quite the info-dump about her fucked up family history. 

Fletcher was able to breathe easier after telling Jane, though. That fact scares Fletcher just the tiniest bit. 

And then Fletcher looks at Jane, and Jane looks at her, and Fletcher thinks that she can trust Jane. 

“So, if Fletcher doesn’t like drinking, how are we going to make her lips looser?” Sabina brings up. “I wanna know all the shit she’s done. Scots are fucking crazy.”

“Say what now?” Fletcher looks over her shoulder to Sabina with concerned eyes. 

“Pie her in the face with a dosed pie. Do you prefer key lime, or pumpkin?” Jane suggests, turning to Fletcher. Fletcher’s jaw drops. 

“Did Jane just make a joke? What the fuck just happened? Did I get thrown into an alternate universe?” Fletcher stands up straight. She points a finger to Jane. “Also, I prefer peach cobbler or apple cinnamon. Get the fuck out of here with pumpkin pie.” 

“Pumpkin pie belongs in the trash,” Elena grumbles, but Sabina looks outright offended. 

“Excuse all of you! Pumpkin pie is amazing!” 

There’s laughter, and Fletcher’s heart feels lighter. Fletcher looks at Jane for the thousandth time this hour, and grins as she sinks the eight ball into the pouch. 


	8. Chapter Seven - angel choked up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everybody loves mission time. elena gets to hack shit, jane gets to shoot shit, sabina gets to blow shit up, and fletcher? fletcher gets the bad hand in this round of mission poker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! sorry for disappearing, just needed to take a break. i'll be updating this as I go. thanks for your patience!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**_angel choked up_ **

“So glad all of you could make it, today,” Bosley comments, eyes scanning the room. Fletcher takes the hair band off her wrist, and snaps it against Sabina’s arm. Sabina jerks upward, and Elena has to swerve to side to avoid a flying hand that inevitably lands on Fletcher's face. Bosley’s jaw tenses, and she sighs. “Honestly, why do I even bother?” 

“Because you love us and would single handedly bulldoze an entire army if our lives were in danger?” Elena offers up, head tilted to the side with a sweet, knowing smile on her face.

“Or that you would take a bullet for us?” Sabina replies, and Fletcher rolls her eyes, rubbing the spot on her cheek where Sabina’s flying hand had managed to strike a hit. Not the hardest hit Fletcher’s gotten, but bound to sting for a few minutes. 

“She technically did,” Jane says, waving a hand towards Bosley. 

“Wait, what? How have I not heard about this?” Fletcher’s brows knot together as she leans forward, glancing at the other three. 

Elena’s eyes widen briefly. “Oh my god, did no one tell her?” 

“Not the topic right now, ladies. We have a mission to complete today, and I’d like to get it done as soon as possible,” Bosley easily diverts the conversation towards the projected screen, where a visual of the Caduceus Industries testing facility is mapped out. Bosley highlights a few entrances. “Charlie’s ordered a strike against the facility. With what we’ve gathered, we have enough evidence to suspect that the CEO of Caduceus, Arda Lane, is between a rock and a hard place with a buyer on the black market, thanks to the financial records from Lane’s checking accounts we obtained.” 

“What I’m hearing is she’s being scammed into building… whatever she’s building for this guy,” Fletcher asks. Bosley nods. 

“Precisely. If our researchers are correct, then what we’re searching for is a project called Lycaon. We don’t know what it is, or what it does, but it’s imperative that we find it, and if possible, extract it from the facility,” Bosley continues, folding her arms over her chest. “For that reason, we all have to work on this as a unit. We have the London HQ on backup, but Charlie wants this to be as quiet as possible.” 

“By quiet,  _ how _ quiet?” Jane prompts, and Fletcher has to laugh. She’s probably asking if being quiet means no guns, or guns with silencers on them. There’s a difference. 

“You take what you need and what you can use to your advantage. This facility is high-tech, but with tech, there’s always an error. Fletcher, you’re the most able to get to the roof and take control of the security box up there. Elena will be able to patch in, and give us the time to get inside without triggering the alarms,” Bosley motions to a box on the roof, next to the roof access. “Once Elena’s in, Sabina will draw some attention in the North Sector. This will give Jane and Fletcher the time to scour the South Sector of the building for what they’re searching for. If that doesn’t work, then Sabina will move to the South, and they’ll move to the North. Risky, but I know you can get it done.”

“Fletchy, can I use some of your bombs?” Sabina looks at Fletcher, pulling her best puppy dog eyes out. Fletcher raises a hand, fingers flexing as she meets Sabina’s gaze and does her best to ignore the innocent eyes. 

“No. You’ll blow your fingers off. Nice try, Bina,” Fletcher says, feeling somewhat proud that she managed to not give into Sabina. Meanwhile, the blonde skulks. Fletcher rolls her eyes, regretting her previous statement. “You can have some flashbangs.” 

“Yes! I told you, it always works!” Sabina says, jerking a finger to Jane, who shakes her head. 

Bosley snaps her fingers for attention, and it works, as Fletcher and Sabina quit their squabbling over bombs and flashbangs. 

“If I can continue,” Bosley begins, and there’s no response. Fletcher glances sideward to Jane, who doesn’t look back. Fletcher's fine with that. Gives her more time to look at Jane’s side profile, which is unfairly pretty. Bosley hums. “Elena will be with me in the van.” 

“Oh my god, the van?” Sabina groans, and Bosley sends her a sharp glare. Fletcher mutters ‘the van’ under her breath. 

“Elena will be safe in the van, and she’ll still have access as long as all three of you carry these with you at all times,” Bosley says, holding up three, flat rectangles that she hands out. “They’ll amplify the scrambling signal, and allow Elena to do her work faster.” 

“Damn,” Fletcher mutters. She looks to Elena. “You make these?” 

Elena nods cheerily. “Yup!” 

“That is my girl!” Sabina says, fist pumping the air. 

“Oh, they’re using possessives!” Fletcher stage-whispers. Jane merely rolls her eyes, standing up at Bosley’s dismissive wave and the warning of leaving within the hour. Fletcher glances to Elena and Sabina, who are looking grossly in love (Fletcher did, in fact, confirm they are together when Elena was baking a pie for her. A conversation that she’d rather not relive due to how embarrassing it was). 

Mission prep with the trio, as Fletcher’s learned, can either be fairly easy, or an absolute mess. Today is the latter, as Sabina badgers Fletcher all the way to the armory. 

And then they’re rolling, after Sabina says a snide comment about Fletcher’s clothing, (You’re wearing  _ white _ , Fletcher), to which Fletcher made a sarcastic retort (It’s called  _ blending in, _ Sabina. The building is white). They arrive to their location, and break off to their respective positions. 

Fletcher breaks out from behind the boulder she found cover in, and rushing to the latter. The gates to get up the ladder is locked, of course, but Fletcher’s not an escape artist for nothing. Fletcher scales the grates easily, her white leather suit helping her look like the wall (take  _ that _ , Sabina). She pulls herself onto the roof, boots crunching along the gravel, and she finds the security panel Bosley mentioned earlier. 

“Alright, Elena, you’re patched in,” Fletcher says as she plugs in the transmitter given to her some minutes ago. 

“Give me a second,” Elena says, and Fletcher kneels down, bringing her forearm into view. “Okay, I’m in. Their security is very strong, but there’s always a backdoor, if any of the engineers are smart enough. Searching through their files. Sabina, Jane, back door is unlocked for you both. Fletcher, you’re clear to proceed.” 

“Why do people think skylights are ever a good idea?” Fletcher ponders as she hacks off the lock to the skylight, pulls it open, then jumps in. She executes a swift roll, hitting the ground with only the sound of the skylight clicking back into place. She stands up, and glances down the empty hallway. 

“Rich people,” Sabina whispers, a hint of disdain in her voice. 

“Aren’t you an heiress?” Fletcher whispers back, swiftly pressing herself to a wall so a brace of guards pass by without even glancing her way. 

“‘Mo money, ‘mo problems,” Sabina retorts easily, and Fletcher has to suppress her snort. That’s so very Sabina of her to say. “We’re inside. Splitting off with Jane, she’s headed to you, one sexy train of guns and muscles! Choo-choo!” 

Elena starts laughing so hard over the comms that Fletcher turns down the volume on them, but she’s barely holding back her own laughter. Jane makes no noise, but Fletcher can see Jane moving towards her. 

“Say, Kano, you up for a friendly bet?” Fletcher asks, moving to a door and pushing it open. Nothing. She shuts it closed and moves on. 

“No betting!” Bosley warns, but Sabina can be heard chanting ‘Do it! Do it!’ in the background. 

“What are we wagering?” Jane responds, and honestly, Fletcher’s more surprised than anything else. Jane, actually taking Fletcher up on a bet?

“Whoever loses has to get groceries for the next two weeks,” Fletcher offers. Some silence follows. 

“What’s the bet?” 

“Whoever can get more rooms covered wins,” Fletcher says, shutting the door to yet another useless room. “I’m already on my second.” 

There’s a faint thud. “You’re on.” 

“God, I can  _ feel _ the sexual tension from here,” Sabina remarks coyly, and Fletcher has the sudden gut feeling that Sabina’s smirking at this very second. 

Jane seems dismissive when she speaks, “It’s called talking, Sabina.” 

“Normally, I’d condemn betting during very important missions, but I have a feeling that you two work better with the thought of not having to do groceries,” Bosley says, and then she goes silent. 

And with that, Fletcher begins the countdown. She can hear the ruckus Sabina’s making on the other side of the facility, and it’s giving Fletcher the room to breathe as she moves from room to room, searching for anything that could indicate what the mysterious ‘project’ is and  _ where  _ it is. 

She rounds the corner, and immediately draws her stun gun, but lowers it when she registers Jane standing in front of her. Fletcher holsters the gun. 

“How many?” Fletcher nods toward the door to her left. Jane glances at the door. 

“Twenty,” Jane replies, then raises her brow, silently asking,  _ how many? _

“Twenty one,” Fletcher responds, and then moves to the door. 

But she freezes when two voices are heard from the other side. They choose to go on Sunday, a day where they observed no workers in the facility, but then who are the two people inside?

“Miss Lane, you can’t let him take this from us! We’re so close to finishing this!” A panicked voice— male, with a high pitch— nearly yells. 

Fletcher locks eyes with Jane, who drifts closer and places her ear against the door. 

“What choice do I have, O’Reilly? Save my pride or my life? The Lotus is  _ not _ the man you barter with.” It’s Arda Lane, the CEO of Caduceus, no doubt about it. Fletcher mouths  _ The Lotus? _ to Jane, who merely shrugs with the same amount of confusion as Fletcher. It’s a name neither of them have heard before, but hopefully with Elena listening over the comms, they’ll be able to find a hit in their expansive database. 

“We need just a bit more time to finish the coding—” 

“We don’t have time, O’Reilly! He wants it done, and at this rate, we’re going to lose our heads to him!” 

Sounds of feet shuffling and chairs scrapping against the floor cause Fletcher and Jane to bolt in the other direction together. 

“Jane, Fletch, you’ve got a squad of guards heading towards you!” Elena advises hurriedly. 

Fletcher finds the closest door and throws it open, pushing Jane in there as well as herself. Jane shuts it as quiet as possible, and moments later, the stampeding of guards boots is heard from the other side. 

“Did you guys catch all of that?” Jane asks on the comms as Fletcher moves her finger over the screen on her wrist, eyes scrutinizing the map of the facility. They’ve only got a few more rooms to hit before the South Sector is a blank for the project. 

“We did. We’re cross referencing the data you heard in our database, but we’re on a time crunch— it’s on the backburner,” Bosley responds. “Status?” 

“Having fun!” Sabina shouts, and a loud  _ BOOM _ follows her. “Fletch, these flashbangs are amazing!” 

Fletcher rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face nonetheless. “Jane and I are almost done. Just a few more rooms to go, and then South will have been swept.” 

“Good. Keep it moving, Angels.” 

And they do. Fletcher splits off with Jane after having highlighted the rooms to Jane, and they even share a quick fistbump before parting. There’s nothing quite like being back in the groove of it all, scouring rooms and raiding papers to find morsels of information. Sure, Fletcher’s always been a bit used to the more…  _ active _ side of this job, what with her history of tearing apart drug rings and sex trafficking gangs, but this is as good as it’ll get. She’s on a mission, with her tech, and Fletcher’s feeling pretty good. 

But the thought of the Lotus hangs over her head. 

“Uh, guys? We have a problem!” Jane says, and for the first time in Fletcher’s life, she hears  _ panic _ in Jane’s voice. Jane doesn’t panic. 

“What’s going on?” Fletcher perks up immediately. 

Static feedback crackles from Jane, and Fletcher out and moving of the lab she was just in at lightning speed. 

“Elena, what’s happening?!” Fletcher nearly shouts, bolting down the hallway to Jane’s location. 

“Jane’s gotten barricaded into a room and there’s— is that gas?” Elena says, and Fletcher’s jaw steels. 

“It is. Elena, find out what it is and deactivate the gas, stat. Sabina, blow something up and get out of there. Fletcher, you do the same. Jane, if you can still hear me, don’t breathe!” Bosley commands, her voice firm and soothing in this time where Fletcher’s heartbeat has ramped up twice the usual amount, and there’s nothing but pure adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream. 

Elena starts up again. “It’s  3-Quinuclidinyl Benzilate, also known as—” 

“Sleeping gas,” Fletcher exhales as she throws herself over the railing of the stairwell, landing on the next floor below and shoving the door open with her arm. 

“Bos, the gas is laced with cyanide. The way it’s mixed, it won’t hurt Jane as long as she doesn’t breathe.” 

_ Cyanide _ . The word rings like a wedding bell in Fletcher’s head, and for a few seconds, time seems to slow as Fletcher’s mind processes everything at light speed and—

“Elena, are there any vents that lead to the room?” Fletcher asks, her voice unnerving calm. 

“Fletcher, no! You need to get out of there, Elena’s working on the door as we speak!” Bosley says, and there’s an edge of desperation in Bos’s voice. 

“Elena!” Fletcher hisses. 

A beat. Elena speaks, her voice strong. “Look up and to your left.”

Sure enough, a vent is there. Fletcher leaps up, sliding her fingers in between the vent and pulling as hard as she can. The screws pop off, and Fletcher rolls back and throws the vent to the side. 

“Fletcher, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing right now, but—” 

“Fucking trust me, Bos!” Fletcher shouts back, maneuvering her way through the ventilation system according to Elena’s instructions. There’s a gas mask in her bag at this very second. Fletcher never goes anywhere without one, for this very reason. Left, right, another right, left. With every second that passes, another second taken off Jane’s life. 

Fletcher reaches the vent, and reaches back into her pouch, grabbing a puck and placing it against the metal. She pulls back, and while it detonates, she wraps a spare piece of cloth from her pouch around her eyes. Cyanide is a dangerous thing. 

A blue, sickly gas begins to seep through the vent through the gnarled shards of metal from the destroyed vent, and Fletcher presses onward. She grabs the sides of the vent, and pulls herself through. Sharp metal slices through her leather and presses into her skin, the ooze of blood marking the air with a metal tang, mixing in with the disgusting smell of the gas. 

It’s enough to hurt, and enough to remind Fletcher she’s not immortal. 

And yet, she goes ever onward. Fletcher has— no, she  _ needs _ to get to Jane. Jane’s the only person strong enough to guide the Angels through this mission. 

Fletcher hits the floor, and the gas nips at her open wounds, and Fletcher inhales her first breath. Already, she begins to feel woozy. 

“Jane!” Fletcher shouts, and there’s a profound thud. Fletcher can see nothing, but she follows the noise. If nothing, follow the noise. “Jane!” 

Fletcher reaches for the gas mask hanging from her hip, and follows the thudding. Jane’s boots. A resounding headache begins to curl in the back of Fletcher’s mind, the beginnings of the cyanide working through her lungs, and into her blood. Fletcher can feel the toxins already making work of her, cutting into her scratches and stifling her lungs. The only thought on her mind is— Is Jane still alive?

Hands wrap around Fletcher’s arms, touching the open wounds, and Fletcher reaches out for Jane’s face. It’s her— Fletcher can feel the sharpness of Jane’s jawline underneath her fingers. How could she not? Fletcher’s spent hours looking at them.

“Fletch—” 

“Shut up!” Fletcher grunts, and presses the gas mask onto Jane’s face. The hands once on her arms leave, and they cover her own as Fletcher presses the mask tighter. “Breathe!” 

Muffled noises as Fletcher hastily secures the mask over Jane’s head. The headache grows stronger, taking root in Fletcher’s brain as her hands move slower. Her hands begin to feel like pins and needles, and Fletcher curls her toes, desperate to hold on and stay awake. The cyanide echoes in her blood, dredging up the memories of Fletcher going under the needle, training her to be resistant against this very poison that threatens to silence her forever. 

“Fletcher!” Jane’s shouting, but it sounds so far away. Fletcher stumbles forward, her arms going slack, and despite her blindfold to protect herself, she can see the stars dotting the edge of her vision. “Fletcher, hold on!” 

Fletcher opens her mouth, but nothing is said as the darkness welcomes her into their cold arms, and everything goes black. 

~~~~~

“Fletcher!” Jane shouts, her knees hitting the floor in effort to slow Fletcher’s fall. She’s unconscious— her limbs limp, her head slumped over. 

There’s a ferocious hiss, and Jane looks over. A door, burly and wide, slides open, letting out the fumes. 

“— ane! Jane, are you there?!” It’s Bosley, and she’s more panicked than Jane’s ever heard her. 

“I’m here,” Jane responds, taking deep breathes. Never did she think she’d be so grateful to breathe air again, and she staggers to her feet, pulling Fletcher up with her. 

“Thank fuck! Sabina’s on her way. Fletcher?” 

“She’s out. Gave me her gas mask,” Jane responds, pulling Fletcher’s arm around her shoulder and forcing herself to move onward, though her legs feel weak and her mind is exhausted. Each step feels like a thousand pound weight it added onto her shoulders. The mask is covering her face, and Jane hates it, because she all she can see is Fletcher cradled in her arms, suddenly looking so much smaller than before. 

Jane makes it out of the room, and there’s Sabina, waving away the gas. She’s got soot in her hair, and it’s a daunting reminder of when Jane had to carry Sabina from the rubble of the safehouse. And here she’s doing it again, except this is Fletcher. 

“C’mon, we have to get out of here. Elena’s doing her best to delay the guards, but we don’t have a lot of time!” Sabina says, and together, they pull Fletcher out to the exit. Bosley’s pulled the van around, and they’re pulling Fletcher into the van. She’s bleeding everywhere. Red blood has stained the white leather of her suit. Sabina pulls the door of the van shut, and they’re rolling. 

“Elena, scramble their radio. Delay their backup. Jane, take it easy. Sabina, there’s a first aid kit in the back.” Bosley’s voice begins to fade out as Jane stares at Fletcher, laying deathly still on the floor of the van. Her face is pale, almost ghost white, and when Sabina pulls the blindfold off, Fletcher’s eyes are wide open. 

And then her teeth are gritting together, her arms locking and her hands seizing up. 

“Shit! What the fuck!” Sabina shouts, and it snaps Jane from her staring. 

“Her body’s reacting to the poison!” Bosley looks over her shoulder, down to Fletcher, then curses. “Fuck! Sabina, get up here and drive us back! Elena, call HQ now!” 

“On it!” Elena responds, and Sabina’s quickly moving to replace Bos. 

Bosley slides to Fletcher, her hands moving swiftly to place a pillow from the bench under Fletcher’s head, and Jane feels utterly  _ useless _ and  _ helpless _ as she watches with pure horror as Fletcher’s body convulses, and there’s nothing Jane can fucking do to help except watch as Fletcher seizures. Fletcher, who ran so willingly into cyanide laced smoke to get Jane. 

Jane’s heart clenches in her chest the same time Fletcher goes slack, and her eyes shut.


End file.
